


can i not like you for a while?

by larryshares



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst and Humor, Bottom Louis, Dirty Talk, Fluff and Smut, Hate Sex, Hate to Love, Hoe!Louis, Love/Hate, M/M, all that good stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 01:00:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 43,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3790741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larryshares/pseuds/larryshares
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>louis tomlinson is awful. harry is just as difficult, and they're both terrible to each other. it makes being in the same acapella group together quite complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	can i not like you for a while?

**Author's Note:**

> american uni au lightly inspired by pitch perfect. by that i mean it's not so easy to transfer creative musical numbers to written words without time warping back to the days of songfic, so this is mostly just harry and louis screaming at each other with some musical elements tied in. hope you enjoy! xx
> 
>  
> 
> notes: a teeny bit of zouis, very slight ziall/ziam if you squint at it, minor luke/cal, a lil bit of violence, alcohol, pot & cigarettes, smut and f-bombs galore.
> 
> disclaimers: obviously neither 1d or 5sos belong to me, stuff said by characters doesn't necessarily reflect my own personal views, fic title from rihanna's "hate how much i love you"
> 
>  
> 
> lastly, this fic would never have gotten finished without my dearest [dorothy](http://daddymalik.tumblr.com/). it literally sat in my drafts for almost an entire year and i'd pretty much given up on it until she convinced me it was good enough to keep writing. and even still i probably would've lost it again if not for her motivation, so i dedicate this story all to her special beautiful soul for helping me make it happen! <333

Harry doesn’t remember how long it’s been since he got a full night’s sleep. Probably the first day of fall semester, before classes had really begun and the homework started piling up. Before he made new friends and started getting invited to parties and football games and highly exclusive sleepovers in the girl’s dorms. Before Niall puppy-dog-eyed him into trying out for the acapella teams, and before they were both carefully selected to join the best one on campus. Before he ended up at a place that worships a bloody singing group over a sports team like every other school on the planet, and way before he met Louis fucking Tomlinson, captain of said worshipped acapella squad and the previously undiscovered bane of Harry’s existence.

Truthfully, Harry loves music; who doesn’t? He’s never really been talented with instruments, but from Karaoke night to private shower concerts and jamming out while he speeds down the freeway, singing has always been something he enjoys. Which is probably why Niall decided he’d be the perfect candidate to audition with him, and if it weren’t for Sir Louis T. Hitler and his iron fist keeping everyone in check, Harry would love it. It really is incredible what these groups of people can do with just their voices and a little choreography. When they’re on stage and the crowd is going wild for them, or when Harry gets a solo and the uproar from the audience is all for him, he swears there’s no greater feeling in the world.

He can think of about a hundred worse feelings though, and somehow they all lead back to Louis.

Louis was the grade school bully who’d push people down on the playground to assert his dominance, pants them in public and laugh about it with his friends, maybe trip people in the hallway and act completely innocent when confronted. Not that Harry even knew him in grade school, but based on the more verbal type of wretchedness he’s devolved to over the years, Harry would bet high on it.

Louis doesn’t have a lot of real friends, but he is pretty attractive and can be kind of funny sometimes, so people have a shallow sort of respect for him. Harry doesn’t think there’s anyone who truly  _likes_  him, though. Except for his partner in crime Zayn, who’s quiet, cool demeanor and celestial otherworldly beauty puts him way out of Louis’s league. And maybe his parents. Maybe.

So thanks to Niall’s persistently endearing excitement over the whole acapella phenomenon, and Harry’s ingrained-in-his-bones  _need_  to ensure that his best friend and practical brother is happy as can be, they both get to experience the full effect of Louis’s rampant awfulness on a daily basis.

 

* 

 

“Go away.” Harry grumbles in response to the hand that lightly shakes him awake in the early hours of the morning.

“Not a chance, man. You’re late for rehearsals.” Niall’s thick Irish drawl is way too harsh for Harry to deal with at—he forces an eye open to peek at the glowing numbers on the face of the clock on his bedside table—4:13 am. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter and pulls the blanket over his head.

“I’m sick.” He says, voice muffled by the covers.

“You’re not. You’re just lazy.” He can hear the eye-roll in Niall’s tone.

“’M quitting the team.” Harry tries again.

“Get up!” Niall yanks his duvet away and throws it off the bed, leaving Harry’s bare chest and legs exposed to the cool morning air.

“It’s freezing. Give me back my blankets.” He whines.

“Seriously Harry, Louis’s fuming.”

Harry groans, rolling onto his back, mentally rubbing his temples at just the sound of that name.

“What else is new?” He asks rhetorically, slowly heaving himself up to sit and rub the sleep from his eyes.

“Yeah, well, for once it’s not just him.” Niall snaps, throwing a pair of black sweats in Harry’s lap, quickly followed by a dingy white shirt at his face. “The rest of us managed to drag our arses out of bed on time, so we’ve all been waiting on you.”

“You couldn’t start without me?” Harry asks, hopping off the bed to wiggle the pants up his legs and over his hips.

“We need  _the whole team_  to prepare for Nationals.” Niall says, “You know, that big competition we’re trying to win at the end of the year? That’s not going to happen unless everybody’s on the same page.”

“Is it really necessary to be up before the sun rises for that? What happened to regular after class rehearsals?” Harry grumbles, pulling the shirt over his head as he goes to dig through his closet and find his favorite red flannel for maximum coziness at fuck-all in the morning.

“Louis’ got tutoring four nights a week now, so he scheduled early rehearsals on those days instead.” Niall explains, exasperated. “He went over this with everyone last week. Do you even listen when he talks?”

“Mostly I just imagine wrapping my hands around his neck and squeezing till his face turns purple.” Harry answers honestly.

“I’m about three seconds from doing that to both of you if you don’t shut the hell up and get going already.” Harry’s roommate snaps from his bed across the room.

Under normal circumstances Ashton is the sweetest, kindest, most humble and adorable person, not to mention best roommate on the face of the earth. He’s loads of fun, cleans up after himself, and never borrows Harry’s clothes or touches his things without asking. Plus, he’s in a band with three other cool dudes who are always popping in to hang out and they usually bring free food, so Harry’s basically in eternal platonic love with him.

However, given that it’s too early for even the birds to catch their worms, Harry doesn’t blame Ashton for being a grump. He blames Louis for thinking it’s even a little bit sane to expect a bunch of twenty-somethings to be up and ready for lively singing and dancing at this unholy hour.

“Sorry for waking you, sweet face. We’re on our way out.” Harry teases as he follows Niall out the door. He doesn’t bother fixing his hair, instead just throws it up and throws a little thing around it for a perfect bun as they power walk to the studio.

 

*

 

Fuming is an understatement compared to how livid Louis really is when Niall finally reappears with Harry in tow. The rest of the team has been doing vocal exercises while they wait so the room sounds like a slaughterhouse for exotic birds with the way everyone’s wailing off-key at the same time, but the ruckus comes to a halt with Harry’s presence as everyone turns their attention towards him.

“So I guess there hasn’t been a terrible accident then.” Louis sneers his greeting. He doesn’t usually yell when he’s  _really_  angry. It’s like he gets to a point where his rage peaks and then takes a 90 degree road down to Rock Bottom, where he flat lines into a seemingly calm and collected exterior. Which is honestly even more terrifying, because contempt is hard to hide behind crystal clear blue.

His face is equal parts sharp angles and smooth edges, much like the rest of him; the way he stands with his chest out and head held high like he’s a weapon with thoughts made of murder, despite the contradiction of his non-threatening slight stature and curvy figure. Harry is about ninety percent sure he sold his soul to Satan for all that sirenic delicacy.

“Apparently not, since you’re still here.” Harry quips right back. “My prayers have gone unanswered once again.”

“So have mine, for a team that’s properly motivated.” Louis retorts, literally snapping him over like an animal to properly join the rest of the group.

“Hey, don’t blame us all for his tardiness.” Zayn says.

“That’s a brave objection for someone who I had to actually pull out of bed this morning.” Louis gives him a pointed look, though it’s softer than the way he looks at Harry. Like Zayn’s tendency to oversleep is only a mild annoyance, where Harry’s is clearly a fucking show stopping tragedy.

“I mean, it is a bit early. I think we all had trouble waking up on time today.” The lead tenor, Liam, speaks up.

“That’s because nobody’s motivated for anything this early.” Harry agrees. That earns a low mumble from the group, most of whom look like they also rolled out of bed last minute. It brightens Harry’s mood a little to know that the team has his back on this one.

Louis hates when everybody gangs up on him, though.

“Alright, you want motivation?” He challenges. “Let’s start with ten laps around the room, now, all of you. Last one to finish gets to skip every early rehearsal for the rest of the year. Afternoon ones, too. As in, your ass is off the team.”

A collective groan of objection bounces off the walls, and Louis has to bark another command before they sluggishly, one by one, begin to jog their circles. Ten laps in this room probably equates to at least a mile or more. At four in the morning after being forced out of bed without even any breakfast for energy, Harry is not having it.

 

“You gonna join us, then?” He asks, crossing his arms, standing his ground while the others follow their directions.

“Why on Earth would I do that?” Louis scoffs.

“You’re part of the team too. You of all people should know, cardio is essential to stay in shape for all that rigorous dancing we do on stage.” Harry condescends.

“Get moving, Styles. Talk to me when you’ve got years of awards under your belt.” He crosses his own arms over his chest and takes an offensive step closer.

Harry fears the day he actually rolls his eyes so far back in his head that they get stuck that way, like his mother used to warn him they would when he was a kid. They stay locked in a staring match until the group passes the two of them, some already huffing from their first lap.

“Every time they pass you is another lap added on to what you have to run.” Louis tells him, “You’re up to eleven now, so I suggest you get started catching up.”

“What happened to kicking me out if I come in last?” Harry calls his bluff.

Louis might get rid of some of the other members, but Harry knows he’s reluctant to lose his voice. It’s easily the deepest of them all and possibly one of the strongest, minus Zayn and Liam. Louis is all about winning, so if he didn’t need Harry’s voice to truly blow the competition away he would’ve given him the boot a long time ago. He sure as hell has enough reason to. This isn’t the first time Harry’s almost blown off rehearsals or challenged his authority as team leader, and they can barely even speak to each other in a civil manner for two minutes without it turning into an argument.

So Louis won’t actually say that he needs him. Admitting that Harry is such a vital part of the team would mean giving him some leverage, and Louis would never have that.

“Twelve laps.” He says simply, counting as the group passes them again.

“That’s what I thought.” Harry says, smirk spreading his lips. He can practically see all the violent thoughts going on in Louis’s head as he stares him down, nostrils flared. “I really don’t feel like running right now though, so I think I’ll pass.”

 

The group runs by them two more times before Louis yells, “Enough!”

Everyone stops running and starts catching their breath as they slowly gather back towards Louis, the beacon for his little minions.

“We’ve wasted too much time already, let’s just get down to business. We have a routine to learn.” Louis finally breaks the gaze between him and Harry to turn and address the group. “Harry, pay attention while you run your fifteen laps. I still expect you to get as much out of this lesson as the rest of the group.”

“What?” Harry nearly laughs in disbelief.

“I said  _get_   _moving_.” Louis snaps. “You were late this morning, nobody else was. Maybe tomorrow you’ll learn to sort your priorities a little better.”

“Lou, come on, that’s—” Niall interjects.

“You wanna run with him?” Louis offers. Niall quickly recoils, and Harry really doesn’t blame him. He appreciates the effort, but this isn’t Niall’s battle to fight.

“Does anyone else want to keep running, or are we all ready to start taking this practice seriously?”

Silence from the group.

“They only passed me four times. That makes fourteen laps.” Harry tries to argue.

“I said  _fifteen_! Start your fucking cardio or get the hell off my team.” Louis barks, back still turned. He doesn’t give Harry another chance to object, as he calls Zayn and Liam up to the front to help introduce the new arrangement.

Harry really didn’t think he’d take it that far, but Louis clearly means business. And to be honest, Harry was actually looking forward to learning the new routine; he just didn’t want to run first. But Louis is already moving on with practice and he’s clearly not going to let Harry join until he runs his laps, so as much as it’s about to physically pain him to admit it, Louis wins this round.

 

He watches while he runs for the first half and Louis picks on him throughout the second half, singling out all his missed notes and steps, correcting them, always using his failures as an example to everyone. Harry just takes it as usual, though not without a few remarks of his own.

By the time it’s finally over, not only is his shirt stained with sweat and his legs about to collapse beneath him, he’s never been so eager to get to class in his entire life. Anything beats dealing with Louis for even one more fraction of a second.

 

*

 

“Why don’t you just quit the team?” Ashton wonders that afternoon as they’re gathered in the commons area after class, sharing a pizza and hogging one of the TVs for themselves.

“Because then he wins.” Harry says simply.

Regardless of the obvious improvement having Harry on the team has done for their performances, they’ve won almost every competition before he joined and he has no doubt that they’d keep winning without him. If he quits, all he’d be doing is making Louis’s life easier, and maybe it’s petty and stubborn, but when Louis has done nothing but make his life  _harder_  for the past few months, he can’t just let that go. He can’t.

“Yeah, but so do you.” Calum says with a mouth stuffed full of food. “Think about it. You’d never have to deal with his attitude ever again.”

“I like being in the group, though.” Harry argues. “It’s fun, and I’ve made friends with everyone else. It’s just him who makes it hell on us all.”

“Maybe you can make friends with him too.” Luke says, ever the optimist. Harry just blinks at him like he’s speaking a foreign language.

“Nah, you haven’t seen the two of them together.” Niall disagrees. “S’like oil and water. Cats and dogs.”

“Toothpaste and orange juice?” Calum suggests.

“Pickles and ice cream!” Ashton happily joins in.

“Someone’s obviously never had pickles and ice cream before. Fucking miracle.” Michael says, reaching for his sixth slice.

“You are the most disgusting human being I’ve ever met.” Ashton makes an unpleasant face at him.

“Says the one who puts vegemite on everything!” Niall gestures to the pizza in his hand that’s smeared with the stuff on top. His mom sends him actual cases of it from back in Australia to make sure he never runs out. Writes him little love notes with as well, Harry’s seen it himself.

“That’s because it tastes good on everything.” Ashton chomps down a bite for emphasis.

“Whatever. Making friends with Louis is such an impossibility that I can’t believe you’d even suggest it.” Harry shoots a glare in Luke’s direction, but he’s distracted by Calum offering to feed him a bite of pizza.

 

Calum holds the slice in front of Luke’s face, and when Luke leans forward to take a bite, he snatches it away and puckers his lips, telling Luke it’s going to cost him. Luke smiles as hard as he can without showing teeth, and then he licks Calum’s nose and quickly steals a bite while Cal’s caught off guard.

“That’s not what I meant, you little shit!” Calum laughs, tackling Luke down and pinning him to the sofa, tickling his sides as he giggles and tries to squirm away.

“’M not little, I’m like a foot taller than you.” Luke brags in between fits of laughter.

“Don’t exaggerate, it’s just a few inches!” Calum objects, poking at Luke’s sides to make him twitch underneath him.

“More than a few inches.” Luke mumbles as his eyes very obviously settle on the front of Calum’s pants, where his crotch is pressing into the top of Luke’s thigh.

“Both of you are little shits, how dare you waste a perfectly good piece of pizza?” Mikey scolds, staring on in horror at the discarded food on the ground, soiled by their immature scuffle.

They don’t pay him any attention. They’re too busy having some weird moment, staring into each other’s eyes like nothing else in the world even exists and they’re minutes away from shedding their clothes in front of everyone.

“Gross.” Ashton snorts, throwing a pepperoni between the two of them. “Get a room.”

“Already have one. Roomies, remember?” Luke says, finally acknowledging someone besides the muscled lump still sitting on top of him.

“Yeah, and you’re not invited.” Calum adds.

“That’s fine. My roommate never gets laid, so I’m pretty content being able to sleep through most nights.” Ashton shrugs.

“I do sometimes.” Harry pouts, knowing it isn’t exactly true. The last time was probably a few weeks ago, with some dude at some party. Before that, he might have been going through a bit of a dry spell. Still, it’s not like he  _never_  gets it in, just that it happens a little less frequently than he’d prefer. 

“Yeah, and Steve Irwin was my uncle.” Ashton jokes.

“Was he really? I always wondered about that.” Niall says. There’s a few beats of pause while they all wait for the laughter, but it turns out he’s serious.

“No, Niall. That was the joke.” Harry explains, narrowing his eyes at Ashton. “He’s saying I don’t get laid at all. Like how the Crocodile Hunter definitely wasn’t his uncle at all.”

“I actually do have an uncle named Steve.” Ashton says thoughtfully. “But he married last year I think, and took his husband’s name. So now it’s Steve Martin.”

Niall erupts into laughter at that. “From Steve Irwin to Steve Martin. Nice!”

 

*

 

Three weeks of early morning rehearsals punctuated by sparse afternoon hours in the dance studio have them all ready for Regionals, round one of the big league acapella season. At practice the night before, Louis announces that their new uniforms have come just in time for the show, and everyone is issued a faded gray shirt matched with a deep blue blazer and sleek black trousers. Everyone except for Harry.

“What the hell is this?” He asks, holding up a tiny black and blue pleated skirt, much like the ones the basketball cheerleaders wear.

“Part of your uniform, obviously.” Louis snickers. He shares a quick fist pound with Zayn, who also seems to find something incredibly funny about it. A few of the others start laughing too, when they notice what’s going on.

“Ha ha, Louis. You’re so fucking clever.” Harry mocks. “Now come on, where are my real pants?”

“I am, aren’t I?” Louis preens. “Shipment was one pair short, so I went out of my way to find a substitute for you. You like makeup and stuff, right? So I figured it wouldn’t be a big deal.”

Harry does like to wear nail polish sometimes. And he may or may not keep a tube of mascara in his nightstand for special occasions. And so what if he happens to own a thong or four? There’s no way Louis could know those things, and even if he did, that doesn’t give him the right to be a douche about it.

“Hilarious.” Harry says, voice absolutely dripping with sarcasm.

“You can’t seriously expect him to wear that on stage.” Liam worries.

“I expect everyone to be in full uniform tomorrow night. No exceptions.” Louis says firmly.

Harry starts undoing the button of his jeans.

“Whoa, what are you doing?” Louis’s eyes widen.

“Wearing my uniform, like you want.” Harry retorts. He unzips and yanks them down to his ankles, kicking them off and standing there in his briefs for only a moment as he steps into the skirt and pulls it up to his waist.

“Holy shit, I didn’t think he’d actually put it on.” Zayn whispers to Louis, and his responding silence is all the confirmation Harry needs. Of course they didn’t think he’d actually wear it. It was just some stupid little prank that they hoped would embarrass him in front of everyone, but he’s foiled their plans and ruined Louis’s mood by going along with it.

 

He definitely wins this round. The nice breeze on his legs is only an added bonus.

“Niall, does this make my butt look big?” Harry asks, poking it out a bit as he looks over his shoulder.

“Almost bigger than Louis’s.” Niall grins.

“Good.” Harry smiles, earning a few chuckles from the group. “How about my legs? Nice, right?”

“Definitely better than Louis’s, even before the skirt.” Liam comments, earning more laughs.

A redhead kid named Eric and an older boy called John look positively offended by seeing a man in a skirt, so Harry winks and makes a kissy noise at them.

“Can we move on now?” Eric complains, turning away, disgusted.

“Good idea. I’ve had enough lies for one afternoon myself.” Louis agrees, ordering everyone into position so they can begin running through their routine one last time.

Harry does the whole rehearsal in his skirt and finds that he actually does enjoy it. It’s a freeing feeling, a nice change of pace from the way his legs are always suffocating in his tight jeans. He won’t actually wear it in public, but just wearing it here is enough to piss Louis off so that works for him.

 

*

 

He seriously contemplates wearing it on stage the next night, purely for the satisfaction of how mortified Louis would be at having to associate with him in such a public setting. The judges may not approve though, and Harry would hate to be disqualified for a simple dress code violation or worse, to get the whole team disqualified after all their hard work. Louis wasn’t lying about the uniform shipment being one short, or if he was then he’s still holding out because Harry had to settle for a pair of black jeans from his own closet.

Waiting backstage for their team name to be called, everyone is buzzing with excitement. The nerves haven’t set in yet and Harry’s not sure they ever will. They’re only here to defend their Championship title and by watching their competition’s routines, it doesn’t seem like winning will be much of a feat this year. Not to say the others are no good—and maybe it’s a little cocky of him to think this way—but they’re definitely better.

 

Finally, the announcement comes to give a big warm welcome back for their beloved Hard-encores. Harry snorts back a laugh every time he hears that out loud. He wonders how they ever got away with a team name like that when children are allowed to attend these shows. There isn’t much time to dwell though, because as soon as their name is called everyone rushes out on stage; Louis first, followed by his right hand man, Zayn, and the rest of them are a chaotic crowd behind them as they all jump and yell and fist pump into the air, sending the crowd’s excitement level sky rocketing.

The cheers die down and the room falls silent as they all get into position—a single file horizontal line across the length of the stage. Harry looks out over the lights in front of them to focus on the audience. There’s still no nerves to swallow, all he can count are the anticipating faces of their admirers. He lives for this. He was born for this.

 

Louis gives the cue, and Liam immediately leads by beat boxing the first few notes of Ed Sheeran’s,  _Sing_. Following his lead, the guy to Harry’s left starts scatting while simultaneously moving his leg to the beat Liam’s set, and one by one, others join in until they’ve got a nice intro going.

With half the team setting the music, the other half is left to start the verse. Harry’s voice blends with Niall’s, Zayn’s, Louis’s, and a handful of others as they sing, disperse around the stage, and put on a show. Their tunes eventually blend into others, and everybody’s jumping and dancing out the moves they spent the past few weeks rehearsing in between their routine for Nationals. That’s the one competition that really matters anyway.

They sound amazing as usual; a chorus of different voices and tones all complementing as if they were made to carry each other, and Harry feels the adrenaline pulsing through his veins as he nails every move, tries his best to ignore Louis’s voice ringing in his head, demanding that he  _move faster, no, slower than that, pick your feet up more, not that fucking high, I—what are you even trying to do now? This isn’t tap dance class, you idiot_.

The third song was Niall’s choice—Burn by Ellie Goulding—and it’s the perfect strong tune to end with. The music shifts again and their steps flow seamlessly into each other, there’s flashing lights and fast movements, and by the last chorus they’ve abandoned all official choreography in favor of reenacting a dance party on stage. They gather together as a group and let loose, singing as they move freely among each other. They finish off by turning to face the crowd as they all pump their fists in the air on the last word. A bit cliché, Harry thinks, but the crowd adores it. There’s a brief pause as the lights explode and the music halts, and then a crescendo of claps and cheers and whistles and hollers floods the room and Harry couldn’t tame the grin threatening to break his face in half if he tried.

The whole team glows just as bright. They’re all big smiles and sparkling eyes as they wave their goodbyes and exit the stage, riding their energy highs. Harry feels _alive_. He’s sweaty and tired and honestly thinks he might have stumbled once or twice, but none of that matters now that it’s over and their effort is about to pay off.

 

There’s one more team to go after them, so they have a few minutes to rest before the ranks are announced. The backstage buzz dies down when their last competitors are announced and everyone’s attention is back on the stage.

 

It’s an all girls team that calls themselves The Femattas. New this year and nobody’s even heard of them until now, so they have no idea what to expect. An enormous group of girls, all different shapes and sizes and skin tones and hairstyles, file out on stage. They sport slim fit tank tops and bright pink tutus paired with floral combat boots for a feminine yet dainty look that still manages to be sexy and menacing at the same time. Much like their routine turns out to be.

They roar in like a thunderstorm, loud and powerful, choosing Beyoncé’s hit  _Run The World (Girls)_  as their first tune. They strut and stomp around stage for the chorus and first verse, harsh and precise as if preparing for battle. A dark girl with a wild afro slows it down for her solo and the group’s movement turns into a smooth gyrating thing that prompts Harry’s own Hard-encore to make an appearance tonight.

 

_My persuasion can build a nation_

_Endless power, with our love we can devour_

_You'll do anything for me_

 

Their arms stretch towards the audience to beckon them forward with the sensual rolling of their hips, and then it’s all sharp motion and fierce punches again as they morph back into  _Who run the world? Girls!_

Barely a minute into the first song and Harry’s jaw is on the floor. He looks around to gauge the reactions of his teammates, and their faces are unanimously just as awed into disbelief as he is. Except for Louis. He somehow remains stone-cold as he concentrates on the girls’ every move, his mouth pulled into a tight line, furrow between his brows.

 

“Shit,” Niall breathes from behind Harry, startling him out of his trance.

“I know, right?” Harry agrees.

“They’re not  _that_  good.” Someone mumbles.

“Are you watching this right now?”

“They’re amazing.”

“The judges are loving them.”

“ _Everyone_ is loving them.”

“I’m not sure we’re going to win tonight…”

Louis shuts them up at that point, turning to shush everyone quiet.

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course we’re going to win.” He assures them, facing back to the performance.

The girls’ next two songs successfully round out the theme of their performance.  _Salute_  by Little Mix and  _Anaconda_  by Nicki Minaj. Never mind the fact that all the cursing and innuendos in their last choice will definitely get them penalized, the crowd goes absolutely insane for them. Maybe even more than they did for the Hard-encores, and okay, there goes the nerves Harry’s been waiting for all night.

 

*

 

“I can’t believe we almost lost to a bunch of girly feminist chicks!” Eric whines. Harry rolls his eyes. He’s the same one who looked offended by the very idea of Harry being comfortable in women’s clothing, so of course he’d be threatened by the other team’s femininity over the pure talent and dedication they displayed in their routine.

“We did not almost lose.” Another guy scoffs. “They were good, but we’re still number one.”

“Someone’s in a bit of denial.” Liam hums.

“Yeah, we only won because of a technicality.” Harry agrees.

He was right about The Femattas last song being an inappropriate choice. They must have known it was a bad idea, but clearly didn’t care as this round wasn’t about winning for them. They just wanted to make a name for themselves as newcomers, and they did a hell of a job at it. They placed second, got a slap on the wrist for poor judgment, and The Hard-encores got to walk away with first place because of it, but it doesn’t even feel like an honest win anymore.

“Now, now, we’re all feminists here, right? We agree that women should be treated just the same as us guys, yeah?” Louis speaks for the first time since they got off stage, and for the very first time since he joined the team, Harry is actually on board with something that Louis has to say. Thankfully, the bus full of them roars in approval too.

“Then we’re also all in agreement that this means we have to really bust our asses for Nationals, so we can crush them just like we would any other team that poses this much of a threat to our crown.”

The bus erupts with cheers even louder this time, but Harry sort of groans inwardly at the idea. He thought they already were busting their asses. How much harder could they possibly work?

“We did a great job tonight, boys.” Louis congratulates. “And we’re still the undefeated champs going on four years now. I say that’s something to celebrate!”

 

The best thing about being in a popular acapella group, after the stage rush, is the parties. Everyone throws them in your honor on the night of a win, so there’s always somewhere cool to be, free liquor to drink because everyone adores you, and a guaranteed good night ahead.

 

*

 

Harry doesn’t know where he is. The whole team started at a friend named Pixie’s party, and they all kind of went their separate ways after that. He and Niall have been party hopping all night and ended up at Olly’s parents’ house, just outside of campus. At least he thinks so, but he hasn’t seen Olly in a while and everything looks different. Brighter and happier and more colorful.

He’s had way more drinks than he can count and might have made out with a person or two, or maybe just vividly imagined doing so. He definitely remembers watching Niall do a keg stand as everyone cheered him on, and then he disappeared into the kitchen after, chatting about needing some solid food to balance out his stomach.

 

The music suddenly gets louder where Harry is and he follows the sound of a faint cheer coming from somewhere in the house. Through the family room, the dining room, he senses he’s getting closer to the commotion as he descends the stairs to the basement, which it turns out is finished with a private in-house bar. The music is pounding in his chest now and there are people crowded all over the space, focused on the near strip show happening on top of the bar.

 

Louis is so pissed out of his mind that he’s dancing on some guys like a little fuckboy practically begging for it. Grinding and swirling his hips, half naked in only a pair of form fitting jeans and nothing else, draping himself over either one of his partners, and they all seem to be smiling along as the crowd chants for them over the music. It’s mostly girls screaming for them to make out, but among some of the guys are Niall and Zayn standing off to the side, watching on in muted amusement.

“Harry, man, there you are! Get a load of this!” Niall laughs. “Never seen Louis let loose this much in me life. He’s a fun drunk!”

“I’m still adjusting to the shock!” Harry yells over the music. Louis is usually the center of attention at any party, but never like this. It’s normally because of his obnoxious chatter or because he brought the weed.

“You guys have never been clubbing with him before! This is totally normal!” Zayn says with a fond grin on his face.

“Zaynie! Come join us!” Louis whines from his stage, still gyrating his hips as he shimmies closer to where they are and reaches out for his friend. He’s so close now that Harry can see the sweat dotting his skin, pooling at the end of his spine where his back curves into his bum. Dammit. Harry’s never seen him like this before and hates that he’s so attractive. Curvy and golden and lovely and fucking venomous where it really counts.

“You’ll never get me to, dude, why don’t ya just stop trying?” Zayn shakes his head.

“Because I looove you! And I want you to have fuuuun with me!” Louis drunkenly sings.

“Love you too, bro, but it’s not gonna happen. Maybe Niall will join you tonight.” Zayn nods his head sideways towards him. Louis looks the blonde with wide eyes and a hopeful grin, keeping his arm extended for Niall to grab.

“No way, man!” Niall laughs. “You keep doing your thing, though! Looks like you’re just fine without us.”

“Harry, what about you, dear?” Louis offers way too sweetly, extending his hand to Harry this time, freezing him in place for a moment. “You’re fruity enough for this, aren’t ya?”

And, okay. That sounds more true to Louis’s character, but the fact that his proposition is still totally serious has Harry’s mind in a whirlwind. As if he weren’t already sort of wishing someone that delicious would move on him like that, here’s the chance to have it. He isn’t entirely sure he can even trust Louis. This may be some sort of trick to publicly embarrass him or something, but mostly he’s too drunk to think right.

Niall wouldn’t be yelling encouragements if this was the wrong thing to do, and the crowd wouldn’t be hooting and whistling in their direction, urging the two of them together, and Zayn wouldn’t have actually just pushed him forward so that there was nothing left for Harry to do except reach for Louis’s hand and let himself be pulled up onto the bar top.

 

The crowd responds accordingly as he takes the spotlight, and he catches Niall and Zayn grinning as they all watch on. Harry isn’t thinking anymore, he’s just letting go and feeling the music flow through him, settling into a seductive dance with Louis pressed tightly against him.

 _Louis_ , the same Louis he dreads dealing with every day and the Louis who’s death he’s fantasized on many occasions, and his ass is pressed on Harry’s dick through his jeans and he can’t think of a single thing better than that. Actually, doing it without the pants as a barrier would be infinitely better and fuck, is he really having those kinds of thoughts about  _Louis_ right now?

His eyes fixate on the skin peeking out over the visible elastic of Louis’s boxers, the smooth lines of the muscles flexing in his back and the little tattoo on his side that’s too blurry for Harry to make any sense of. Never mind all the others. And fuck, the way Louis is moving against him, he’s definitely trying to make something happen down there. Maybe that was the embarrassment plan all along. To get Harry so obscenely hard that when the dance is over and they have to climb down, everyone will see it and laugh and Louis will have won again, knowing that he’s got that sort of power over him.

Harry decides he doesn’t care right now. He moves into it, swiveling his hips forward to grind against Louis’s backside, and he may or may not be imagining the gargled little noise Louis makes in response. Probably not, because Harry’s impaired mind couldn’t possibly have concocted a sound like that all on its own.

They dance through two whole songs, flipping for the second so that Louis can turn to wrap his arms around the back of Harry’s neck and look him fiercely in the eyes as he grinds their waists together. They’re both panting and practically drooling, and Harry doesn’t understand how it got to be this way, with him practically exploding in his pants by the time they’re done dry humping and eye fucking each other to the beat of some techno remix of Rihanna’s  _Where Have You Been_.

 

A bunch of drunk people can never stay focused on one thing for very long, so by the time the song ends, the room has started to clear out. Louis hops off the bar without even sparing a backwards glance in Harry’s direction as he disappears somewhere, dragging Zayn along with him. Harry follows his example, meeting up with an absolutely beaming Niall to beg him for more drinks.

“I think you’ve had enough, man.” Niall laughs. “You just did a fucking table dance with Louis Tomlinson. Practically tore each other’s clothes off in front of everyone.”

“I know, that’s why I need more  _drinks_!” Harry frets.

Not that he’d thought this was going to make them cool or anything; he still hates the guy with a passion and judging by the way Louis ran off as quickly as possible, the feeling is still mutual. Which is why Harry is so conflicted about whatever just happened between them and needs to erase it from his memory if at all possible. Tequila should do the trick.

 

*

 

It’s much later in the night when the party starts to wind down, leaving just a few stragglers here and there. Harry and Niall are two of them, but Harry’s lost his little blonde brother again and he’s busy stumbling around the house searching for him. His stomach feels sloshed full, his head is too dizzy and he misses his bed. Sunday is one of the only mornings they don’t all have to be up before the ass crack of dawn, so he intends to make the best of it by sleeping all day if he can manage.

He passes by the sliding glass door that leads out to the balcony without really paying attention, until the familiar fumbling laughter catches his ears and he happily follows it outside.

Niall is with Liam, Zayn, and Louis, and they’ve all got lit cigarettes between their fingers as they prattle on about who even knows what. Harry can’t make sense of much right now, except the fact that he’s never seen Niall smoking before in his life.

“Niall, what the fuck?” Harry barks. “You’re  _smoking_?”

“Oh god, it found us.” Louis grumbles, and oh. Now Harry remembers why he hates him.

Niall just shrugs. “I do sometimes.” He says, taking a long drag.

“What the hell, guys? You can’t seriously be having cigarettes right now, we’re  _singers_! That’ll destroy your voices!” Harry rationalizes. He knew Zayn was a regular smoker already and Harry really doesn’t give a shit about what happens to Louis either way, but Niall and Liam are his friends. Them, he’s actually concerned about.

“Sorry, you’re right.” Liam apologizes, immediately ashing almost half of what he’s got left on the painted balcony railing.

“Oh please, no he isn’t.” Louis says, rolling his eyes. “He’s just being a whiny child, as usual.”

“So I guess you’ve sobered up then, huh?” Harry glares as his arms cross over his chest.

“Enough to be able to keep my lunch down while you’re spewing garbage everywhere.” Louis quips back, taking a long drag and deliberately aiming his smoke at Harry’s face when he exhales. Harry does his best to fan it out of the way, disgusted by Louis’s complete disrespect for Harry’s own untainted lungs.

“I think you are right, Harry.” Niall admits, but still he doesn’t put it out. “I know it’s really bad, that’s why I only have one every now and then. Way I see it, everything’s fine in moderation.”

“Really, how about cancer?” Harry challenges. “Is cancer ‘fine in moderation’? Because it doesn’t have to be a habit for that to happen, you know.”

“Will someone please shove a sock in his mouth?” Louis groans. “What are you, his mother? Why do you always have to be such a buzz kill?”

Harry squints, watching as Louis brings the thing to his lips and sucks down another lung full of smoke. Without really thinking about it, he reaches out to yank it from between Louis’s fingers and throw it off the balcony. He’s vaguely aware of the low gasp from the others, but doesn’t pay it much attention as he stares Louis down.

“You fucker.” Louis hisses, “Try that again and I swear on this whole pack, I’ll fucking choke you.”

He pulls an almost full pack of Marlboro Reds out of his back pocket and shakes one into his hand, preparing to light it up. Another moment of bravery surges through Harry’s bones as he reaches for the rest of the pack to toss it over as well, daring Louis to try him.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Louis lunges forward to wrap his tiny hands around Harry’s neck. He feels the squeeze of a tightening grip and the ring of muffled voices through his fuzzy ears, and everything goes black soon after.

 

*

 

Rehearsals on Monday morning are only slightly more awkward than usual. Louis has apparently decided to pretend Harry doesn’t exist; paying him no attention when he enters ten minutes behind everyone else and ignoring any side remarks or blatant refusal of orders, which is totally fine by Harry. The fact that Louis isn’t even trying to get on his nerves anymore has him in a good mood, until it comes to an end and Louis calls him to stay behind after everyone else clears out.

“What’s this about?” Harry asks when they’re alone. The last thing he wants to do is waste a whole hour of precious sleep before his first class of the day, with the same person who literally tried to strangle him the last time they saw each other.

“If we don’t do something about your dancing, those girls are gonna mop the floor with us at Nationals.” Louis says.

“What’s wrong with the way I dance?” Harry asks, offended.

“Uh, it looks like somebody dropped an ice cube down your pants.” Louis says this as if it’s the most obvious thing ever, like how could Harry not have realized what a sorry excuse for a dancer he is? “You have no rhythm. You jump around like a maniac, can’t go two steps without tripping, and you’re hopeless at moving your hips to the beat.”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with my hip movements this weekend.” Harry comments, crossing his arms over his chest in defense.

“I was drunk enough to slut dance on top of a bar, so obviously not in my right frame of mind.” Louis quickly dismisses.

“Really, cause Zayn might have mentioned that’s not exactly a rare occurrence for you.”

“Tell Zayn I said he can get on his knees and suck me dry.” Louis snarks. “Which is what you looked about ready to do at some point, so at least I had the good sense to bail early. Never did thank you for ruining my fun, yet again.”

“Like you weren’t gagging for it from any willing participants within a fifty mile radius.” Harry rolls his eyes.

“Would’ve settled for anyone except you.” Louis admits easily.

“Why, don’t you think I’m pretty?” Harry bats his eyelashes, widening his eyes for maximum adorable innocence. Louis doesn’t even look at him, instead choosing to make a choking sound accompanied by some fake barfing faces.

“Good one.” Harry says sarcastically, changing the subject back to more pressing concerns. “So your plan is to what, coach me or something? You’re not exactly the best dancer in the group either.” Harry is aware that his own moves could use some help, but Louis is also over exaggerating for the sake of rudeness.

“Good enough to turn you into something passable.” He shrugs.

“Couldn’t somebody else do this, though? Why does it have to be you?” Harry complains. Liam’s a better dancer than anyone he knows, and a cool person, too. Harry wouldn’t mind having to put in extra hours if it was with him, or really anyone on Earth besides  _Louis_. “I know you don’t want to be here right now any more than I do.”

“You got that fucking right.” Louis says icily. “It’s really not fair of me to sentence one of the other guys to this, though. What have any of them done to deserve that kind of cruel and unusual punishment?”

“How brave of you to take the fall for them.” Harry sasses, but Louis keeps talking as if he hadn’t heard a thing.

“Plus, I need to make sure this is done right. I don’t trust anyone else to be as hard on you as you need. For reasons beyond me, they all like you too much, and I don’t want any slacking off while you’re supposed to be learning. There’s no room for errors here.” His voice is firm as he explains, “This is serious, you got it? I need you to really focus and learn these moves, or I have no choice but to kick you off the team.”

“Just do it, then. Isn’t that like a dream for you anyway?” Harry dares.

“Much as I’d love to rid you of my life forever, the real goal here is winning.” He admits. “I’m not so blinded by my own opinions that I can’t recognize the value of what your voice does for our sound, but we have got to get this choreography under control or even that won’t be enough to keep us on top.”

Did Louis just almost compliment him on something, or is Harry getting delirious from being forced to wake up before the sun so often lately?

“Don’t you have anything to say to me before we get started?” Harry folds his arms over his chest to wait for the apology he deserves.

“Like what? I just explained everything.” Louis quirks a brow and curls his top lip slightly, showing more disgust rather than confusion.

“Oh, I don’t know, how about ‘sorry for being a fucking nutcase who freaked out and almost choked you to death over a pack of cancer sticks’?” Harry tries.

“You want me to apologize for that?” Louis raises his voice now. “You’re the one who came out of nowhere, running your big fat mouth about other people’s personal choices like your opinion is actually worth anything.”

“And you think that’s a valid reason to  _strangle_  someone?” He prompts.

“I warned you.” Louis says with a tilt of his head. “You threw out an entire pack of perfectly good cigs. They’re not cheap, you know.”

“So that’s reason enough to  _try to kill me_?” Harry attempts to make him see how irrational he was, and  _is_ being.

“Oh, you’re such a drama queen.” Louis waves him off. “If I was honestly trying to murder you, I wouldn’t have given up so easily.”

“The only reason you did is because the guys were there to pull you off!”

“I planned on letting go after you passed out anyway.” He shrugs.

“Oh good, and here I was sure there wasn’t an ounce of mercy in that cold, dead heart of yours.” Harry snaps. “Now I see it’s okay to wring someone’s neck over a pack of cigarettes, as long as you don’t actually intend to kill them for it.”

“Maybe it wasn’t just that!” Louis snarls, turning quickly around, forcing himself into Harry’s space. He points an honest to god finger at him like some sort of disapproving mother lecturing a child, even though Harry’s the one who has to look down to meet the acid in his eyes. “Maybe that was just the last straw. Maybe I’ve had enough of hearing you run your fucking mouth, I’m sick to death of your goddamn attitude, and  _you_  in general.”

“I could say the same for you, but that doesn’t make it okay to wrap my fucking hands around your neck, no matter how much I want to!”

“So I’m supposed to feel bad because you’re such a little chicken shit that you can’t act on your real feelings?”

 

Harry can feel his blood begin to boil, an actual searing heat starting from inside, radiating through his pores. Partly because of how close Louis is standing, the warmth of their bodies mixing together in the tight bubble around them, making his skin feel weird and buzzy. Mostly because Louis is a fucking idiot, a big pompous asshole that he’d like to punch right in his dick, so hard he’d never stand a chance at bringing another human being with his genes into the world someday. The last thing this planet needs is another Louis fucking Tomlinson.

“Is that a challenge? You want me to knock you out right now, just because I feel like it?” Harry barely recognizes the sound of his own voice at this point.

Louis recoils, taking a deep breath as he struggles to compose himself too. His arms are visibly tensed, the muscle prominent underneath layers of skin. Jaw strained like he’s grinding his teeth into nothing but little nubs, and Harry catches the bob of his Adam’s Apple in his throat like he’s swallowing down the words that could end Harry’s life, even as he stares dead into his eyes. Eyes that have lost all traces of soft blue, deepening into something grey and sinister with rage at this point.

“I’m not apologizing for anything. It would be a damn lie anyway, cause I’m not sorry.” He finally says, all traces of anger in his voice settled into something light and soft and calm. Dangerous. “In fact, I think you’re the one who owes me an apology for starting the whole thing, by sticking your fucking nose where it doesn’t belong in the first place.”

“Are you serious right now?” Harry’s brows rise in utter disbelief that his twisted brain could honestly see it that way, that he would even have the nerve to suggest he’s the one who deserves an apology for anything. “You pounce on me like a fucking prison escapee and expect  _me_  to apologize to  _you_? You’re lucky I don’t press charges, you psycho!”

 

Louis cuts him off with a kiss. A  _kiss_ , holy shit. One second Louis is standing there looking like he’s ready to finish the job from that night, and then his lips are moving quick and rough against Harry’s and without really thinking about it Harry is kissing him back, just as fierce and perplexingly desperate.

Louis tastes bitter, like remnants of his morning tea and the color of rage and anger. Bright reds and deep oranges and almost-white yellows, like the ones Harry sees behind his eyes when he thinks of how fucking stubborn Louis is. So stubborn that he’d rather throw himself at Harry with the intention of either choking or—whatever’s happening now, rather than admit he might actually be wrong about something.

It’s rough and sloppy, teeth clacking as they force their mouths together and tongues deeper into each other’s mouths, hot heavy breaths and greedy hands that don’t stay idle for long. Louis pushes against Harry until he can’t anymore, the crook of Harry’s knees hit a table and he falls back to sit at eye level.

Louis’s fingers twist into the roots of Harry’s hair, reddening his scalp, making his brain feel raw with the force of his tugs, like he’s honestly trying to leave a bald spot behind. Harry’s hands rest on Louis’s hips, nails digging into skin as he pulls Louis closer, closer, till their bodies are pressed against each other and there’s no room to move without further tangling themselves together.

Louis uses his knee to pry Harry’s legs open and force a thigh between them without much resistance. He grinds forward to press his length against the growing bulge in Harry’s jeans, and Harry lets out a moan that ends up lost in their impossible make out.

He pulls Harry’s head back by his hair for better access to his jaw, his neck and collarbones, where he peppers hungry kisses in between tiny licks and nibbles. Harry can’t think about anything except how fucking good it feels, how shamefully hopeful he is for more, and what the fuck is even happening right now?

His breathing is labored, voice shaky when he asks, barely above a whisper, “What are we doing?”

“Shut up. Shut  _up_.” Louis growls against his skin, grinding his hips forward, effectively silencing Harry’s words in favor of another groan. “Just fucking shut up for one goddamn second. So sick of hearing you talk.”

 

Okay, Harry can agree with that too.

 

He reaches around to grab Louis’s ass, firm and plump and fucking unbelievable as he forces their hips closer still. Louis’s free hand slips underneath the hem of Harry’s shirt, fingers tracing over the edges of his abs, moving their way up and around to drag his nails roughly down the skin, leaving a stinging burn in their wake and god,  _yes_ , but also  _no_ , there better not be marks leftover tomorrow. He knows he’ll regret this as soon as it’s over, a fact he doesn’t care enough about to do anything to stop it from happening, but he does care enough to not want the physical reminder plaguing him after.

“I hate you so much right now.” Harry groans.

“Fucking hate you all the time.” Louis says, pulling his shirt over his head, giving Harry the opportunity to do the same.

His eyes may or may not be watching Louis undress. Salivating over his flat tummy, the soft glow of his skin in all its golden glory, the ridiculous curve of his bum into those thick legs, even the elegant script inked into his collarbones and all over the contours of his arms.

He happens to notice the way all of Louis’s tattoos are on his left arm, how they fill in the empty space of Harry’s to complement the decorated canvas of his own right. They fit together, honestly, and Harry has to shake that thought from his mind right away because this isn’t about them being some kind of twisted tattoo puzzle. It’s just a hookup. He’s about to hook up with Louis Tomlinson and that means absolutely nothing. Just because he can’t stand the guy’s inner self doesn’t mean he can’t appreciate the outer beauty, and fuck if Louis isn’t the most infuriatingly magnificent piece of art Harry’s ever seen.

Louis seems to be checking him out too; Harry catches a glint in his eyes and his tongue flicks quickly out over his bottom lip before it’s gone again, animal instinct bringing their faces back together for more sloppy tongue dancing.

“Fuck you, Louis.” Harry breathes, his mind struggling to fit together the pieces of himself that want to touch Louis as much as he wants to kill him.

“Yeah, please.” Louis sighs, making Harry’s insides tingle with anticipation.

 

Okay. So this is really happening.

 

Louis reaches behind himself to produce a condom and lube from his back pocket, shoving them into Harry’s hand as he kisses his way down to Harry’s neck.

“You keep this stuff with you all the time?” Harry raises a brow in judgment.

“Just in case. Some of us actually get laid on a regular basis.” Louis retorts, shutting him up quick. Harry wonders if it’s obvious to everyone that it’s been too long for him, or if Louis has just been paying more attention than he thought.

“You’re such an asshole.” Harry grumbles, tearing the first package open to dip two fingers in and slick them up nicely.

“Both, now.” Louis demands, flipping around so his ass is in Harry’s lap, cock pressed right into the crack as Louis spreads himself and waits. Harry pauses for a moment, moving himself aside to stare at Louis’s hole, pink and smooth and pretty, just waiting to be stretched around a nice fat cock. He takes a slow breath, reminding himself again that this is  _Louis_ , he’s not supposed to think or feel too much about what they’re doing, he just—

“ _Get on with it_.” Louis’s voice comes harshly as he looks over his shoulder, impatient.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Harry hisses, quickly pressing two fingers in past the first knuckle to shut him up. Louis whimpers, actually fucking whimpers at it, and Harry’s breath gets low and shallow as he marvels at the sound and the tight heat around his fingers.

Louis’s hands grip Harry’s knees for balance, nails surely marking up the skin there too. He doesn’t give Harry a chance to move inside him, he’s already pushing back against Harry’s hand, taking the rest in, swiveling his hips in Harry’s lap to get some friction. Harry slides in a third one when he demands more, and Louis clenches then relaxes on him, telling Harry to curl his fingers and— _god, yes, right there. Don’t stop._

When Louis has stretched himself enough that Harry’s fingers can wiggle without restraint, he folds over and sighs, “Give me your cock now.”

“What did I just say about telling me what to do?” Harry asks, brushing against his prostate again, making Louis let out something like a pathetic whimper.

“Come on, Harry, I’m not playing. Just fuck me, Jesus.” He snaps when he can manage.

“Ask nicely.” Harry smirks, working him up inside, loving this new element to their usual power swap, something familiar yet entirely different than anything he’s ever known before.

“Fuck me, please?” Louis tries, but it’s condescending and ingenuine.

“Try again.” Harry says, but he pulls his fingers out with a nasty popping sound and rips open the condom, quickly rolls it down and empties the rest of the lube in his hand, stroking himself a few good times to spread it around. Louis doesn’t have to know how ready he is too. “Be honest. Tell me how much you want it.”

“Fuck you.” Louis spits, looking back again, eyes scrunched in disdain. It’s hollow though, meaningless when he follows up almost immediately with, “Please, just— _please_ , Harry. I want it. Want your cock, want you to come inside me, I want—”

Harry pushes in quickly to shut him up before he’s even finished begging for it, and bottoms out with little trouble. Louis feels fucking amazing, yielding to his whole length like that and still such a snug fit. Harry’s not unaware of how big he is—not  _no way am I letting you anywhere near me with that thing_ status, but some people have had trouble taking it all. Louis doesn’t, though. His whole face squints at the initial intrusion, and he blurts out “fucking hell, Harry, holy shit” but he lets a long, strained breath out as he pushes himself back to properly sit in Harry’s lap for a minute, adjusting.

Then he just goes for it.

He hoists himself up and drops down fast and Harry cries out at the press and release, so Louis doesn’t stop. He goes quickly again, and then once more, and then there’s no pause in between thrusts as he rides and fucks himself steadily, graceful somehow. His hips rock back and forth, up and down, that sinful ass bouncing and slapping against Harry’s legs right before his eyes while he just watches on, leaning back on his hands as he moves his hips slightly in time.

Louis is moaning and cursing as he works himself, and soon his movements lose all pattern and sense, turning into something needy and sloppy as he cries, making Harry lose his mind. He’s never seen Louis come apart like this. Louis is always controlled even when he’s not, he’s good at faking it.

Except when there’s a cock in his ass, apparently. The fact that Harry’s found his weakness is so fucking hot his stomach starts to bubble with it.

He sits up to grab Louis’s hips on either side, steadying him in the air as he changes pace and begins to fuck up into him. Louis throws his head back and then forward again, choppy breaths coming quicker as Harry watches himself disappear between Louis’s cheeks, slamming into him. Louis’s hand moves to stroke himself to release and Harry can feel his own building with each thrust, a twisting heat inside him getting closer and closer until—

Louis shivers through his whole body, clenching around Harry’s cock as he hits his limit. It’s the sound of his helpless moans, the sensation of being squeezed so tightly and the sight of Louis’s fucking magnificent bum pressed flush against him that sends Harry flying only a fraction of a second later.

 

They stay that way for the briefest moment ever. Harry doesn’t even have time to soften before Louis’s hopping off and gathering his clothes from the floor. Harry just lays back, flat against the table, head still reeling from the weight of what just happened. Louis doesn’t say a single word as he dresses and throws his duffel bag over his shoulder. Harry’s heart beats in time with quick footsteps as he storms out, letting the door slam shut behind him.

 

*

 

“Why weren’t you at rehearsals this afternoon?” Niall asks, letting himself into Harry and Ashton’s room after class. He goes right for Ashton’s bed, flopping himself down at the end of it and crisscrossing his legs to settle in. Ashton holds out the bag of pretzels he’s been munching on and Niall happily digs for a handful.

“Just didn’t feel up to it.” Harry mumbles lamely.

“Oh, that’ll go over well with Louis.” Niall says, thick with sarcasm. “He was really pissed, you know.”

No, he doesn’t know. He hasn’t seen Louis since The Event, and the strangest part is that Louis didn’t even attempt to hunt him down and drag him in for rehearsals. Usually if Harry’s even two minutes late, his phone is blowing up with furious calls and texts until he shows up.

“When is he ever not?” Harry groans, rolling over on his stomach to hide his face in a pillow. Even when he’s literally balls deep in Louis’s ass, it’s still only fueled by anger.

“That’s true. I’ve never properly met the guy, but conversations about him always seem to start this way.” Ashton says around a mouth full of pretzel.

“I think he lives in a perpetual state of hating me.” Harry quickly adds, “It’s mutual, though. We’ve discussed it.”

“Is that what he made you stay late for this morning?” Niall asks. “You never answered my texts. Everything alright?”

Harry sighs, deciding it’s time to rip the bandage off sooner rather than later. It’s not like he was ever intending to keep it a secret from his friends, but somehow saying the words  _I had sex with Louis_ out loud feels more like a scripted movie line than an actual thing that happened, so he’s been trying to avoid it for as long as possible.

“You  _what_?” Ashton and Niall both shriek at the same time.

“I had sex with Louis?” Harry inflects, like he’s not entirely sure that’s what they heard him blurt out by accident. He could’ve sworn he’d only been thinking it.

“I knew it.  _I knew it!_ ” Niall shouts.

“You did not! You said there’s no way they’d ever learn to get along.” Ashton calls him out, “Oil and water, remember?”

“That was before Olly’s party.” Niall grins. “You should’ve seen them, Ash. They were all over each other. I knew it would happen after that.”

“It was one dance!” Harry objects. “And that was before he tried to choke me death!”

“Come on, we wouldn’t have let him kill you.” Niall dismisses. “Besides, that dance lasted pretty long for two dudes who apparently can’t stand each other. And Louis was half naked, and your boner was practically ripping through your jeans.” He laughs, “Surprised the both of you didn’t just get it on right there in front of everyone to be honest.”

“ _Niall_.” Harry groans, covering his face with his hands in sheer embarrassment.

“Wait, what, he  _choked_  you? After you  _strip_   _danced_  with him? How did any of that even happen? What kind of party was this?” Ashton is utterly lost now. “I thought you hated him!”

“I  _do_.” Harry growls a bit too defensively, but it is true, after all. Maybe even more so now, because this wasn’t supposed to happen but it  _did_ , and Harry shouldn’t have liked it but he  _did_ , and he isn’t supposed to be this attracted to Louis but he  _is_ , so fuck him and his hot ass, rude mouth, and bad attitude.

“Yet you had sex with him?” Ashton asks, still confused.

“Geez, haven’t you ever heard of hate sex before?” Niall asks, exasperated. “Never been so angry at someone that you kind of just wanted to fuck their brains out?”

Ashton’s jaw sort of falls slack as he shakes his head in shocked disbelief.

“I don’t really get it either.” Harry sides with his roommate on this one. “It’s like, one second we were literally yelling in each other’s faces, then somehow we ended up kissing and it just kind of happened.”

“Did you like it?” Niall leans forward with a hopeful grin on his face. “Was it hot? I bet it was, oh my god. Are you gonna do it again?”

“No!” Harry practically shouts, determined to resist. Not that it’s even hard to do because this is  _Louis_ , and Harry can’t imagine an alternate universe where he’d ever want to have more sex with Louis, or have anything to do with him outside of obligation ever again for that matter. “It doesn’t matter how good it was, it was a mistake! We’re just going to pretend this never happened, which is fine by me because I still fucking hate him anyway.”

“Okay, if you say so.” Niall doesn’t wipe the stupid grin from his face, so Harry throws a pillow at it.

 

*

 

Harry has this place he likes to go for some peace and quiet. It’s not a secret exactly, because it’s a public place on campus where anyone is free to go if they want, it’s just that not many people ever do.

There’s a big courtyard out in front of the University with tables to sit at and trees to sit under and a huge expanse of grass for students to chill on, so most people choose to gather there. There’s another area right in the middle of the dorms and others all over campus, with little gardens and benches, where fewer people like to hang out, but still enough that Harry can’t seem to get any work done there.

His place is behind the school, behind the dorms, behind the back parking lot and too far away from the football field for any sort of noise or commotion to reach. A nice, quiet, little pavilion at the end of a dirt path in the woods, with a few picnic tables set up underneath the shade.

There, the only sounds are morning birds, the rustle of the leaves against each other when a cool breeze floats through, and sometimes Harry likes to play music while he does homework. He’s got a lot to catch up on from the past few days, since Louis has been taking up way too much space in his thoughts to concentrate on anything in class, so he retreats to his hideout that afternoon in an attempt to clear his head.

 

He wants to punch a gaping hole through a tree when he approaches to light chatter and finds that the devil himself has already claimed one of the tables, sat next to a pretty girl with long hair and flirty eyes. There are open textbooks and loose papers scattered around the two, and they both look up when Harry appears with his own study materials in hand, backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Bloody hell,” Louis mutters, “What are you doing here?”

“This is my spot.” Harry says, “I come here all the time, for privacy. What are  _you_  doing here?”

“What’s it look like, genius? I’m tutoring.” Louis says.

Oh. Harry hadn’t realized that Louis’s weekly tutoring sessions meant he was the one helping students. He just assumed that with their busy rehearsal schedule, Louis was the idiot letting himself fall behind in his classes.

“Sorry, Harry, it’s my fault.” The pretty girl says. “I asked to work here today, it’s so nice out.”

Harry hesitates, looking into her big brown eyes, widened in apologetic innocence. He recognizes her then, a sophomore named Eleanor who he’s met here a couple times before. Only one or two people are ever here with him at once; sometimes they make conversation, sometimes they respect each other’s need for silence and go on about their own business without much interaction. Eleanor usually just gives him a friendly smile and keeps to herself. He likes that about her. People don’t seclude themselves in the middle of the woods if they’re looking to be social, and she gets that.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” He sighs, unable to take out his anger on her honest face. “Just wasn’t expecting to see him here.” He grumbles under his breath as he chooses the farthest table from them to lay out his own workspace.

“You’re staying?” Louis raises his voice.

“Of course I am. I’ve got work to do.” Harry says, not even sparing him another glance as he puts his ear buds in to block everything out. Louis starts to say something else, but Harry just blasts Kings of Leon and pretends not to notice or care.

 

Of course Louis would be here. Of fucking course, the one place Harry could count on to be an escape, the one place he could come to clear his mind, focus on work or just relax and enjoy the scenery without having to worry about any of the world’s bullshit. Of course Louis would be the one to ruin that for him. Louis ruins everything.

As he opens his music theory book and tries to re-read the chapter, things quickly become fuzzy and irrelevant behind the haze of annoyance stirring inside him. His thoughts are a messy, bitter stream of  _Louis is here, probably watching me, judging me, telling her all sorts of lies to make me look bad and generally tainting my special spot with his presence. How dare he? How_ dare _he? I should throw this book at his fucking head. I should take my earphones out and hope the music drives them both away. I should find his cigarettes and break every single one in half, just to piss him off this much. I should—_

He looks up for just a second to find that the two of them don’t seem concerned with him anymore at all. They’re huddled close together, leaning over the book and laughing as Louis points to something in it.

Harry feels weird inside, like the frigid anger in his veins has just defrosted in an instant. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Louis laugh for real, with the exception of evil snickering at some poor target’s torment. Eleanor doesn’t look insulted, though. She’s definitely laughing along with him, and from the few times Harry’s spoken with her, she seems like too sweet of a person to find enjoyment in Louis’s usual brand of humor.

Harry notices that Louis’s genuine smile is actually quite… mesmerizing. Not beautiful, or anything like that. He won’t let himself think that way about Louis, but he can admit it’s an interesting sight. It’s just so refreshing to see him displaying any sort of emotion besides malice or indifference. Harry’s never paid this much attention before.

He shakes his head clear of those thoughts and tries to focus on his work, but the scene unfolding in front of him is just so damn distracting.

Louis, gently reaching over to point at things in the book, shuffling through the papers to find what he needs and meticulously explaining things to her, showcasing a hidden side of himself; delicate and attentive and intelligent. His soft eyes and careful hands and crinkly smiles of approval or interest in some short, off-topic conversations. It’s so surreal to see him this way, almost like he’s a normal human being with real emotions, patience, and understanding. Weird.

Harry pauses his music to see if he can hear what they’re going on about. The sound is a little muffled through his earphones—he won’t remove them out of fear that it will tip Louis off to his eavesdropping—but it sounds like Louis is speaking a different language. Something smooth and quick and unintelligible… French, maybe? Oh, god, yes. That’s it. Louis speaks  _French_. Perfectly and fluidly, his sentences coming out in a rush of unfamiliar syllables, the luxurious accent gliding across Harry’s ear drums like wings through the air.

Louis is a fucking French tutor. A French tutor with pretty blue eyes and elegant lashes framed by expensive glasses and a polished look way beyond his years. A French tutor who fucks like a champ and probably knows a few dirty phrases he could use for appropriate moments. Harry bites down hard on his lip, mentally reminding the blood rushing to his cock that he actually hates the guy.

 

Eventually, the session comes to an end. Harry’s eyes quickly dart back down to his work when Louis and Eleanor close their books and start gathering everything up, fretting that they’ll catch him staring and get the wrong idea. It’s not like he was admiring or anything; he just got caught up in how crazy it was to witness Louis not being a totally arrogant asshole for once. And the fact that he can speak another language well enough to  _teach_  it just caught Harry off guard. And the way his glasses seem to make him look softer, somehow.

Harry still hates him, though.

“Got enough of an eyeful for one day?” He only realizes he forgot to turn his music back on when that harsh voice grates on his eardrums, so different from the smooth flow of delicate up tilts it possessed only moments ago. Harry pulls the ear buds out one by one and looks up to meet the sharp blue he’s used to seeing, rather than the kind eyes reserved for his pretty student.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Harry says, playing dumb.

“ _Tu es un très mauvais menteur_.” Louis says, and Harry nearly chokes on the spit he has to swallow back to keep from licking his lips.

Louis’s mouth thins into a smug smirk, the bastard fucking knows what he’s doing. Dammit. Harry’s not even going to ask what he said. He doesn’t want to know.

“Trying to work, here.” Harry grumbles, brushing Louis off as he looks back down to his book.

“Yeah, looks like you’ve made a lot of progress.” Harry can hear the fucking smirk still in Louis’s voice.

“Do you mind?” Harry snaps in dismissal, looking up again to glare right through him, hoping he’ll get the hint and  _just go_.

“Not really.” Louis shrugs, making a show of picking at his nails as if disinterested. Certainly not making any moves in the right direction, which is anywhere but here.

Harry just sighs, frustrated, simply blinking at him as he lets Louis feel like an idiot for still standing there when his presence is clearly unwanted.

Amazingly, he stays for a few minutes of complete silence before opening his big mouth again.

“So nothing’s changed between us then, right?” Louis asks, promptly raising his brows in a way that says  _just because we had sex, doesn’t mean_   _I don’t still hate you._

 _Mutual._  Harry thinks.  _Mutual, mutual, fucking eternally mutual._

“Obviously.” He says simply, tapping his pen against the table.

“Good, then you’d better not make skipping rehearsals a habit.” Louis threatens, hollowly. At this point Harry’s pretty sure that no matter what he does to piss Louis off, he’s not actually going to get kicked off the team. Louis just likes to make him think he has some kind of power by dangling it over Harry’s head any chance he gets.

“Whatever, Louis.” Harry brushes him off, deliberately turning his attention back to his book again.

After another lingering moment of silence, something in the air shifts enough that Harry feels when it’s safe to drop the pretense of studying again. He finally has his private little place all to himself; no trace of Louis to be found anywhere.

Harry still  _fucking hates him_.

 

*

 

Things go back to mostly normal after that. Louis still insists that Harry needs extra help with his dancing, but he decides Liam is a better candidate to teach him. Since they don’t have to abide by Louis’s busy tutoring schedule, they meet up on their off-days for an hour or so of lessons and usually go for food in the lunch hall after, sometimes meeting up with Zayn and Niall too. Harry feels more relaxed than he ever would with Louis as his dance instructor.

If Louis told Zayn about that day, he’s good at hiding it. Zayn’s a bit of a struggle to get a read on anyway as he sort of coasts through everything with a generally laid-back demeanor and relaxed expression, but Harry can only assume.

His own friends won’t leave him alone about it. It’s been roughly three weeks since The Event, and Niall has bugged him every day wondering if it’s happened again,  _yet_. Like it’s only a matter of time, despite that Harry keeps insisting it was just one accidental thing.

Calum and Michael are making monetary bets on it, Ashton keeps pestering him for details like  _how do you look at him every day and not just picture his naked arse in your head?_ and  _does it feel as wonderful as it looks?_ , and Luke swears on his whole love life that Harry’s going to end up  _dating_  Louis by the end of the year, which is so absurd that Harry can’t even stand to listen to him babble on about it anymore.

He does think about it, though. Not about them getting together, but he can’t forget the way Louis’s skin felt, sweating underneath his fingertips. The image of the curve of his bum is seared into Harry’s mind, the sound of Louis’s breathy moans and the scrunch of his face when he came with Harry’s cock buried deep inside him. Hell, the feeling of  _being_  inside him, of the tight heat swallowing him over and over, the sound of skin smacking against skin, the rippling in Louis’s arse cheeks as they bounced—

 

Harry nearly jumps out of his skin when the shower curtain pushes open behind him. He spins around to find Louis leaning against the tiles of the cubicle, wearing nothing but a towel tied around his waist. Harry isn’t entirely sure if he wants to smack him or lick him.

“Jesus, Louis, what the fuck?” He shouts, weakly attempting to cover himself with his hands.

Louis just gives him a slow up-down, dragging his eyes from Harry’s face to his dripping wet chest, hesitating on his junk, dropping to his legs and settling back up on his cock again. It would make Harry uncomfortable to have someone blatantly staring at his limp dick like that, except he notices the bob of Louis’s throat like he’s enjoying the view a little more than he’ll ever admit.

“What’s that you were singing just now?” Louis finally asks, tearing his gaze away to look Harry in the eyes again.

Harry blinks confusedly for a moment. Louis just walked in on him in the shower and openly ogled his naked body, only to ask about music?

“Kodaline.” He says, hesitantly. Louis just raises a brow, so Harry guesses, “Never heard of them?”

Harry doesn’t know that much about Louis outside of the group, but judging by the arrangements of all their performances, it’s easy to guess that he doesn’t stray very far from mainstream pop and hip-hop. Not that there’s anything wrong with that—Harry loves a catchy jam just as much as the next person, but on his own time he does typically prefer stuff with more lyrical value.

“Oh, get over yourself.” Louis rolls his eyes. “Of course I’ve heard of them. They’re not some secret, underground band that you’ve managed to discover before everyone else.”

“I never thought they were.” Harry says, refusing to be baited into some petty argument about music taste. “You just looked clueless, is all.”

Louis just shrugs it off. After an awkward pause, he ventures, “Is it about someone? The song.”

“All songs are about someone.” Harry says.

“Not really.” Louis argues. “Some are just about partying and like, life experiences.”

“Yeah, but if you think about it, those are about people too.” Harry disagrees. “Either directed to the listener or about the artist themselves. Maybe even about close personal friends or a touching encounter.”

Louis rolls his eyes, trying again, “Well, I meant for you. Were you singing about someone in particular?”

Harry sort of recoils at that, caught off guard because why does he care to know? Even if Harry does happen to think of his ex every time he hears the song because the bastard used to be obsessed with the band and he’s the one who first got Harry into them, it’s not like he’d ever tell Louis that. The spiteful asshole would probably do his research to arrange a lineup of nothing but Kodaline’s music for their next performance, just to fuck with him.

“What’s it matter to you?” The defense is clear in his tone.

Louis relaxes, sighing a little, like he’s far too exhausted to deal with Harry’s attitude at this time of night and so not in the mood to fight back. Which makes Harry wonder what he expects to get out of bothering him in the shower, if not the simple satisfaction of irritating him so much it starts another row between them.

 

It’s uncomfortably silent in the room for a few more beats. Louis isn’t making any moves to leave and Harry’s towel is just on the other side of the stall, so he’s still standing stark naked in the middle of his shower underneath Louis’s critical gaze.

“Can I help you with something?” Harry prompts, hoping his annoyed tone works as an adequate dismissal.

Louis’s answer is about as far from what he expects as possible.

“If you’re up for it.” He says, eyes flicking back down to Harry’s exposed lower half. “Doesn’t look so just yet, but I could change that.”

Harry’s jaw falls slightly open in shock because no, dammit, this isn’t supposed to happen again. But now all of a sudden he can’t ignore how sweet Louis looks, hair still dripping from his own shower, sunny skin flushed and sticky from the steam. He takes a couple slow steps forward, shortening the distance between them and Harry can’t fucking think anymore, damn him.

 

Louis’s mouth only reaches Harry’s chin when he stops, so he has to lift up slightly on his tiptoes to bring their lips on each other’s level. They linger that way, close enough to feel the heat of Louis’ breath on his tongue, but not close enough to taste him yet. Louis’ fingers trace over Harry’s water-slicked skin, learning the pattern of his muscles, the ink on his chest, playfully circling his nipples.

He pinches one, twists it a little and Harry lets out a tiny squeak that turns Louis smug as hell. He pinches the two biggest ones next, and Harry is powerless to resist. Louis looks down at his work, eyes following the droplets of water as they glide down Harry’s pale torso.

“Am I crazy or do I count two more?” He asks. Harry can’t properly answer when Louis’ hands move slightly down to twist those two between his fingers, too.

“Both.” He hisses through clenched teeth.

“Didn’t notice that before.” Louis says. “Freaky.”

Before he can even begin to feel self-conscious about that, Louis lowers down enough to take one of the fully developed buds in his mouth, still working the lesser two as his tongue flicks across it.

 

Harry’s never had that flaw of his so easily accepted in his life. Most people are put off by it, giving him a weird look before moving on as they proceed to thoroughly ignore them. Louis just goes for it, taking the two normal ones between his teeth, even stopping to suck at the smaller, off-centered blemishes as his lips drag all the way down Harry’s chest, his abs, pausing just above the trail of hair leading to his hardening cock.

Harry reaches behind him to turn off the water when Louis settles on his knees. He wastes no more time, wrapping a hand around Harry’s length as he licks the rest into his mouth. Harry gasps at the initial sensation, breath coming quicker with each bob of Louis’ head as he starts to work him.

 

Louis is a fucking pro, God, Harry could scream at the feel of it. Actually, that might be what the sound echoing off the walls is all about. He just hopes no one else is in the showers right now to hear it.

Louis hums a foul, hungry thing as he takes as much of Harry in as he can, flicking his wrist around the rest. He uses his free hand to stroke himself while slurping at Harry’s dick, face gone all soft and pliant in bliss. He looks up at Harry when he pulls back to swirl his tongue around the tip, lapping up any precome that hasn’t already been lost and swallowed in a mess of saliva. Harry’s head falls back and he moans at that, hips involuntarily jolting forward to force himself deep into Louis’ wet mouth.

He tries to prepare for an apology, but Louis doesn’t even seem to mind, already back to his steady sucking, cheeks sinfully hollowed and then full again, his own groaning getting louder as Harry struggles to control the heated coil tightening deep in his belly.

“Fucking—ah, shit, Louis,” He breathes heavily. He almost loses it when Louis looks up again, eyes looking so glassy and innocent in contrast with the huge cock stretched between his lips. “Can I come in your mouth?”

Louis pulls off then and Harry whines pathetically, resisting the urge to hold him there, beg him to never,  _ever_  stop. His hand keeps up though, stroking Harry through the fast-building wave threatening to spill over as Louis says, no— _demands_ , “Come on my face.”

That’s what gets him there. Louis holds his head at the tip of Harry’s cock, mouth open and waiting as thick white pulses out, ribboning over his closed eyelids, the bridge of his nose, those peaked cheekbones. The final bits of it drip weakly onto Louis’ lips and tongue as he slowly strokes up Harry’s length, milking every last drop out of him.

Harry falls back, breathless, leaning against the cold tile of the shower stall as he tries to compose himself.

“Where the hell did that come from?” He manages to ask.

 

Louis doesn’t say anything. He just hoists himself back up to a stand and reaches for the knob to turn the shower back on. Harry watches him stand under the spray for a few minutes, dunking his head underneath to slick his hair down and wash the cum off his face. Harry notices he’s getting soft again and the water gliding down his legs has a foggy tone to it. He must’ve come just from sucking Harry off and making a mess of his face and oh, Harry feels hot in his gut with that.

Louis is still silent as he turns the water off and pushes his hair back, giving it a quick wring and turning away. He doesn’t even look at Harry as he leaves the shower, (and Harry’s eyes definitely do not stay glued to his evenly tanned ass the whole time) stopping to bend down for his towel on the floor outside, wrapping it back around his waist again.

“Rehearsal tomorrow, bright and early. Don’t be late.” He calls, and then Harry hears the door open and shut in the next instant, leaving him all alone again.

 

*

 

Harry’s lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling as his head spins from the memory of Louis’s lips when Niall barges in his room that afternoon. Ashton’s just been courteously keeping to himself since Harry got in, but Niall takes one look at Harry’s distressed figure and grins from ear to ear.

“Hell yeah, it finally happened again, didn’t it?” He almost shouts as he jumps onto Harry’s bed, the jiggle of the mattress effectively shaking him into alertness.

Ashton perks up at that. “Is that why he’s acting so weird today?”

“It is, I know it is!” Niall delights, turning back to Harry to check, “It is, right?”

Harry just sighs, realizing there’s no point in even trying to deny it. At this rate, the blonde menace might actually be right about it becoming a regular thing. How could Harry possibly continue to resist now that he knows how fucking good Louis is with his mouth, too?

“Blowjob in the showers.” Harry grudgingly admits.

“You dirty bastards.” Niall says, but there’s laughter in his voice. “Good?” He wants to know.

“Niall, it’s like the only thing he loves more in this world than making my life hell, is sucking dick.” Harry says, gravely serious.

“Wow.” Ashton just gapes in shock.

“I know.” Harry groans.

“Nice.” Niall hisses, nodding in approval. After a short pause, he adds, “So… this was the last time, right?”

“ _Shut the fuck up_.” Harry sneers, but Niall just animates with laughter again.

 

*

 

“You should invite him to our gig this weekend!” Luke suggests when the whole gang is gathered together that night. Of course Niall, being the thoughtful big brother that he is, felt the insatiable need to include them all in this new development.

“Why on earth would I ever in a million years, even  _consider_  doing something like that?” Sometimes he swears Luke must have been dropped on his head as a small child, probably more than once.

“So we can meet your future boyfriend, duh.” Luke says, munching on a handful of chips.

“Ew, will you please stop calling him that?” Harry makes a face. “What makes you so sure that’s where this is headed, anyways? I don’t even like the guy.”

“Right, you just like his mouth. On your dick.” Michael snorts, munching on a mouthful of popcorn.

“Don’t forget his ass.” Ashton perks up. He seems to have a slightly unhealthy affixation with Louis’ ass. Harry can’t really blame him. “That was on Harry’s dick too.”

“Have you touched each other’s dicks with your dicks yet, or is that what we’re calling third base now?” Michael wonders out loud.

“It hasn’t gotten that far yet.” Harry groans, and ugh, what is he even  _saying_? “It’s not third base, either. I don’t think there are bases for this sort of thing.”

“Well you already fucked him anyways, so I think it’s irrelevant.” Calum says. “You got your home run, so all that’s left now is the boring relationship junk.”

“There’s no relationship!” Harry maintains.

“Sure there is, it’s just a really weird one.” Niall shrugs. “’I hate you so much I want to suck your cock and ride you into oblivion.’”

“It’ll be more than that someday, give it time.” Luke says with confidence. “Calum and I hated each other at first too, and now we’re—”

“Best band mates.” Calum finishes quickly, somehow managing to avoid eye contact as he drapes a friendly arm around Luke’s shoulders. Luke’s face falls as he struggles to come to terms with his surprising new status. He doesn’t say anything, but he gives Calum a weird look, while Cal just deliberately avoids looking his way.

Honestly, Harry had thought they seemed like more than that too, but he’s not about to get involved.

“I thought you and Mikey were the ones who used to hate each other, though?” Niall asks.

“Uh… well, yeah. We did.” Luke’s still giving Calum a funny look, like he’s not really sure what’s okay to say around him right now. “Cal just didn’t like me either, because they’ve been best friends for so long.”

“Real bros always hate the same people you do.” Michael confirms, raising his hand in a fist for Calum to bump with his own.

“Well going by that logic, Niall and Louis…” Harry trails off, using his hands to motion coupling them together.

“Not interested.” Niall says absently, as he’s preoccupied with typing out a lengthy text on his phone. Harry reaches into Michael’s lap to grab a handful of popcorn and lob it at Niall’s head.

“You’d better not be texting him about the gig right now!” He warns.

“Chill. I’m not only inviting him, how stupid do you think I am?” Niall scoffs. “I’m sending it as a mass text to everyone on the team.”

“Good idea. The more the merrier!” Ashton chirps.

“Not a good idea! I don’t want him there!” Harry objects.

“Not your gig.” Michael shrugs.

 

*

 

Harry honestly hopes Louis isn’t coming. He doesn’t want him there at all. That’s why he’s been carefully scanning the crowd every few minutes, hoping  _not_  to spot a prettily styled fringe maneuvering its way across the club to meet his friend Zayn who just decided to plop himself down between Niall and Liam as if he can’t choose who he’d rather go home with later. He seems to be leaning more towards Niall, which Harry guesses is because of the blonde’s natural predisposition for women. Everyone likes a bit of a challenge.

“Louis isn’t coming, man, relax.” Zayn says, looking right towards Harry. Still, it takes Harry a minute to realize Zayn’s talking to him. He looks over his shoulders on both sides, before pointing to himself just to make absolutely sure.

“Yeah, I’m talking to you.” Zayn’s grin grows wider.

“Why would I be looking for Louis?” Harry plays dumb.

“Alright, if that’s how you want to do this.” Zayn shrugs, taking a sip of his beer before adding, “Just thought you’d want to know, anyway. He said he’s got other plans.”

“Good.” Harry says, pretending to still be searching the crowd in an attempt to throw Zayn off. “How are things with your, um… that art project, you were talking about?” Harry was sort of paying attention to the conversation before. Now he devotes as much as he can, actively nodding, laughing, offering bits of his own wording to the group’s chatter. He still keeps his guard up and a careful eye out for Louis, though. When he hasn’t made an appearance about halfway through the night, Harry figures it’s safe enough to relax.

 

By the time 5 Seconds of Summer starts their set, he’s four beers and two shots in and things are starting to make less and less sense. Luke and Calum have been acting more distant towards each other over the past few days and it shows on stage. Maybe other people wouldn’t notice, but Harry and Niall spend too much time around the band to not give each other knowing looks back and forth at their obviously unusual dynamic.

Usually the four of them like to flirt and poke fun at each other on stage, but Cal and Luke have a special something that shines through, glittering in their eyes when they share a smile or a laugh or a mic for their solos, sometimes even devoting more attention to each other than the audience. They just see each other on stage and get all light and airy, bouncing around with an energy equal to the way they are offstage, too.

Since the offstage stuff isn’t going so well lately, their fire under the spotlight is just as dim. Calum keeps away from Luke at center stage, but he has no problem being fun and flirty with Michael, who’s always perky stage presence is hard for anyone to ignore. They meet up to strum their guitars and get in each other’s faces, while Luke tries too much not to notice. He brushes it off whenever Michael comes to attempt cheering him up, twisting his face into odd expressions to make Luke laugh while he sings. It doesn’t work at all.

At one point, Ashton throws a drumstick at Luke’s back to get his attention. He seems to be the only one to be able to make Luke smile, just by giving a concerned, sympathetic look. Harry’s seen it himself plenty of times before; it’s Ash’s trademark  _hey man, everything’s gonna be alright_  stare. You kind of can’t help but feel a little better just from seeing it.

 

Regardless of the band’s off-kilter flow, they’re still great musicians who play a solid show. Harry and Niall have been to enough of their gigs that they can sing and dance along in the crowd, while Liam and Zayn and a good majority of the audience don’t know the words yet. They all seem to be responding well though. Zayn even leans over at one point to shout during a song, “These guys are really good, bro! Glad I came tonight!”

“Me too, can’t believe I almost missed this!” Harry hears Louis before he sees him. He whips his head around to his other side at that, and fucking hell, Louis looks amazing. Harry wants to hit himself from the thought even crossing his mind, but Louis is dressed in all black, a t-shirt and form-fitting jeans that make his thighs look absolutely edible. Harry’s so weak it makes his veins simmer.

 

“Why are you here?” He hates that he can’t seem to control his anger around Louis, the guy’s whole presence just irks him.

“I was invited, no?” Louis keeps his cool as usual, feigning innocence despite the fact that he knows the invitation was unwarranted on Harry’s part.

“No.” Harry stubbornly replies.

“That’s funny, cause I swear I received a very enthusiastic text from our friend Niall, much like a few others I recognize here tonight.” He says, waving to a familiar face on the team from across the room.

“Do not call him your friend. We don’t have friends in common.” Harry gripes.

“Ouch.” Zayn holds his hand over his heart like he felt it there.

“Yeah, that was a little rude, Harry. I thought we were all getting along.” Liam agrees, face slightly fallen with sadness.

“I didn’t mean you guys.” Harry corrects. “We are getting along. I like you, okay? You’re the only friends Louis and I have in common. Niall’s mine.”

“Much as I like the way that sounds,” Niall winks, throwing an arm over Harry’s shoulder. “I am a grown man, ya know. Like to think I can choose my own friends and all. Wouldn’t say Louis and I are there yet, but,” He shrugs, draping his other arm over Louis to turn the two of them into the bread of a Niall sandwich. “Friendly.”

“You’re a good dude.” Louis agrees, nodding. “We’re on the same team, Harry. It’s impossible to keep all our friendships separate.”

“ _We_  can still keep  _our_  friendship separate.” Harry says, pointing back and forth between Louis and himself as he shrugs out of Niall’s attempt at reconciliation.

Harry doesn’t want anything to do with Louis in a friendly way. He barely wants anything to do with him in a hateful or sexy way, but the lines there have become infuriatingly blurred lately and he’s not sure how to go about untangling them. That doesn’t mean they have to start acting all buddy-buddy outside of bed now, though.

“Am I going deaf or did he just suggest there might be a friendship blooming here?” Louis perks up, fluttering his long, pretty lashes in false hope.

“You’re going blind, deaf, and dumb if you think that’s ever going to happen.” Harry snaps.

“Does anyone want another beer? I’ll be by the bar if you want to join me.” Zayn offers as he pushes between the two of them to get by, clearly code for  _I’m excusing myself now before this turns into another fight_.

“Right behind you, Z.” Louis smiles as if completely unaffected by Harry’s usual brand of hostility towards him, turning to join Zayn for drinks and catch up with the rest of the team.

 

Harry tries to stay out of his way, he really does, but Zayn, Liam, and Niall want to hang out together and Louis is an unfortunate addition to that group. So Harry grudgingly puts up with him until the band is done playing and he can escape to chill with them for a while. It doesn’t last long though, because they’re all nosy little meddling shits, so they welcome Louis and the others over to their table with open arms.

Harry really can’t help it; watching the one person he dislikes most in the world socialize with some of the ones he loves the most is killing his buzz. He keeps throwing back shot after shot, but it doesn’t seem to be doing much except fueling the rage within. Maybe it’s and possessive petty and stupid, but he’s way past the point of caring. The idea of Louis wedging himself into Harry’s circle of friends, fitting into his personal life that way is sickening.

 

“Fuck everything I said about you guys being together someday.” Luke says when they’re both waiting at the bar to order more drinks. “Don’t ever date somebody you hate. Just keep hating them. It’s so much easier than having fucking feelings.”

“Jesus, Luke. You alright? Never heard you get so intense before.” Harry worries.

“No, I’m not. Calum’s barely even speaking to me anymore.” He says, expression melting from anger into hurt that easily. “One day everything was great and then he just… changed his mind, I guess. He won’t even tell me why.”

“Maybe it’s just… like, you’re the first guy he’s ever been with, ya know. Some people get really touchy when it comes to sexuality stuff. Maybe he’s just afraid.” Harry suggests.

“Well, I am too. Relationships are scary. Falling for someone is always terrifying.” Luke says. “If that person is worth it, though, you don’t just run away. You fight for it.”

Despite the fact that this conversation is about two of his good friends, all Harry can think of is LouisLouisLouis, and how it applies to their own situation. He refuses to believe this is where they’re headed. Nope. He is so not falling for Louis. No, no, no.

If anything, it’s the complete opposite. He hates him a little more with each passing day. Hates his stupid crinkly smile and the sound of his laughter ringing in Harry’s ears every five seconds like a gnat flying around his head. His witty sense of humor and the sassy remarks he always seems to have right on the tip of his tongue. The way he touches his hair to make sure his fringe is perfectly in-tact about 300 times a day and the little twinkle in his eye like he’s just found out all of your deepest, darkest secrets and wants to make sure you know it. Every little detail that Harry happens to notice about him is just another bullet on the list of  _Things I Can’t Fucking Stand About Louis_.

“I know it sounds harsh, but you guys  _are_  best friends and bandmates, above all else.” Harry says, resting a heavy hand on Luke’s shoulder. “Things will work out somehow, I know it. Never seen a group tighter than the four of you. If that doesn’t last forever, the rest of the world is doomed.”

Luke brightens a little at that, just a slight tilt of his lips as the tiny blonde bartender finally brings another round of shots and two open beer bottles their way.

“Don’t wanna talk about this anymore. ‘S breaking my heart.” Luke says, lifting his shot for a toast. Harry immediately obliges and they clink their glasses before tossing them back at the same time.

 

The night parties on and eventually slows down as the place starts to clear out. After a few more drinks, sat at a table watching all his best mates fawn over Louis as if he was the highest ranking royalty, Harry excuses himself to the bathroom. He feels a bit like he might throw up, but it turns out he really just needs to take a piss. He’s busy taking the time to thoroughly wash his hands when Louis pushes the door open.

“You’re pretty good friends with that band, huh?” He asks, marching his way over to the urinals, shamelessly whipping his cock out right in front of Harry. Nothing he hasn’t seen before, anyway.

Harry just turns off the water and shakes his hands out in the air a few times before reaching for the paper towels, ignoring him.

“They’re all proper Aussies, yeah? What are they even doing all the way over here? And how’d you get to meet them?” Louis presses.

 _Honestly_. Harry mentally rolls his eyes. Not like it’s a secret that they all attend the same University. Louis could’ve even asked any one of the guys what brought them to the states, but instead he chooses to bug Harry for that information?

“Transfer students. Ashton is my roommate.” Harry says, curtly.

“Sick,” Louis grins. The sound of a stream of piss hitting against the linoleum bowl settles over the room, amplifying the strain between them by about two million.

“So you’re cool with commissioning them to write something for our final arrangement, then.” Louis assumes.

“What? No. I’m not asking them to do that.” Harry shoots down the idea right away. He doesn’t want them getting any more involved with Louis than this one night of weird friendliness that he can’t wait to end.

“Not asking you to. I already did.” Louis shrugs, dripping himself empty and zipping back up. “They seem pretty eager, but I’m just wondering how you feel about it.”

“What the hell, Louis?” Harry groans. “If this is some kind of stupid prank—”

“Not a prank. I genuinely enjoyed the show, and I like their style.” Louis says. “It’d be cool to bring in some fresh material, something nobody’s ever heard before. I think the judges would be impressed, and we need all the help we can get this year with our competition and all.”

He can’t admit Louis is right, but. He does sort of have a point. It’s a feat that Harry didn’t think of collaborating with them before. He’s not the type to think of using people for his own gain, though. And it’s not as if Louis would’ve actually listened to him if he had come up with the idea on his own, anyway.

“They gave me full creative control, so we’ll be working pretty closely over the next couple weeks to see what we can come up with.” Louis babbles on as he starts on washing his hands. “It’s just that between rehearsals and classes and tutoring and everything else happening with my schedule right now, I might need a sort of… co-writer? To make sure the sound of it is right for us, you know, if I can’t be there to help.”

He pauses there for a moment, looking over at Harry like he expects something from him.

“You want me to do it?” Harry raises his brows in utter shock.

“Only because you know them so well already. I feel like writing sessions are always easier when you’re comfortable with everyone involved, and what’s more comfortable than genuine friendship?”

“Why do you have to keep finding ways to like, get into my life?” Harry moans. “Invading my private study space, ambushing me in the showers, and now playing nice with all my friends? Can’t you just leave me alone and let me live?”

“Now, where’s the fun in that?” Louis looks over at him with the tiniest curve of a smirk and there it is again, the mischievous twinkle like he’s constantly up to something. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing and gets the biggest kick out of the results; Harry’s complete and utter annoyance.

 

That’s when it clicks. Of course Louis fucking showed up tonight just because he knew Harry wouldn’t like it. Acting all sweet and humble around his friends to charm them into liking him, getting them to write a song for the team, inserting himself into the creative process to spend even more time with them, all because he knew it would get under Harry’s skin. He’s suddenly furious that it’s fucking working.

“You motherfucker.” Harry calls him out.

“No thanks. I’ve always preferred dads more anyway.”

“Stay away from my friends.” Harry pushes against Louis’s shoulders, backing him into a corner now. “Stay out of my life, or I’ll—I swear, I’ll…” His brain is too clouded to think up a proper threat. All it can come up with is  _kiss your stupid face until the air runs out of my lungs_ , but that doesn’t sound very menacing.

“Or you’ll what?” Louis asks with a big shit-eating grin. “Fuck me again?”

It’s like he’s daring Harry to act on his thoughts.

Harry’s head is in a constant whirlwind at the power struggle between them. Sometimes Louis is the one in charge, ruling Harry through his emotions, knowing exactly which buttons to press in order to get him really fired up. Harry can see now that for the moment, he’s the one in control.

Whatever Louis had planned tonight, if he even had real plans tonight, he gave it up in favor of bugging Harry. Just so he could push him to his limit, so they’d have an excuse to have sex again; he wants it that badly. Harry wonders if this means Louis has been thinking about it as much as he has since the first time they did it.

 

“Dunno. That what you want me to do?” Harry asks, pressing both hands to the wall behind Louis, bracketing him in between.

“You’re the one making hollow threats,” Louis shrugs, but Harry can see it in his eyes, the burning desire he refuses to give in to. “I was just guessing. Trying to fill in the blanks.”

“You can admit it, you know.” Harry looks down at him. They’re so close now that his whole world is Louis. Blue eyes and tempting curves and a cocoon of his familiar scent. “That you want my cock. Want me to pin you against this wall and fucking wreck you. I know that’s what’s going on here.”

“No.” Louis says stubbornly. Harry watches his gaze flicker to the front of his jeans, the swallow of Louis’s throat giving him away as he meets Harry’s eyes again.

“Won’t give in until you do.” Harry hums.

“Yes you will.” Louis says, bravely reaching forward to cup Harry in his hand and grind his palm against the bulge in his jeans.

 

The door opens behind them. Harry’s reaction time is so slowed that he doesn’t get to see who it is, but it’s definitely Michael’s voice that says “whoops” right before it slams shut to leave them alone again.

 

“No, I won’t.” Harry gruffs, pulling away then. He doesn’t want to give Louis the satisfaction of winning this… whatever this is. He leaves him standing in the bathroom and goes back to where his friends are sat. Michael’s smiling at him from across the table.

 _That wasn’t what you think._  Harry texts him so they won’t have to discuss it in front of everyone.

 _Sure._  Michael texts back, with a suggestive smiley emoji.

_Did you tell anyone?_

_Nope. Secret’s safe with me._

_Nothing even happened, I swear. I just don’t want it to be a big deal._

_Is it ok to use the bathroom now or should I wait for someone to clean up the mess…_

_Go relieve yourself._ Harry texts, giving him a dirty look on the side. Michael just barks out a laugh before getting up to head towards the bathroom again, right as Louis slides back into his seat next to Zayn.

They stay out of each other’s way for the rest of the night.

 

*

 

He and Louis have managed to avoid each other since the gig, barely acknowledging the other’s existence even in rehearsals that morning. He’s glad for it. If Louis is going to worm his way into Harry’s life any way he can, the least Harry can do is try to keep him on the peripherals. 

He heads straight to his room after class the next day, and freezes in the doorway when greeted by someone besides his roommate. Fucking _Louis_ is sitting crisscross on Ashton’s bed. He’s in a pair of sweatpants with his hair tucked into a beanie, and he looks fucking adorable. Harry feels itchy underneath his skin.

“What the hell?” He stares in disbelief.

“Always a pleasure to see you too, Harold.” Louis acknowledges, not bothering to look up from the open laptop sat in front of him.

“That’s not my name.” Harry corrects. Louis just shrugs, still focused on whatever show he’s busy watching. It takes Harry’s brain a minute to catch on to the fact that Ashton doesn’t have a laptop.

“Care to explain what you’re doing in my room, watching tv on my laptop?” Harry asks, slinging his bag into the corner by his own bed.

“I think you just answered your own question.” Louis says.

“You know what I mean.” Harry fusses, slamming the thing shut to force Louis to pay attention to him. “How did you even get in here? And what gives you the right to touch my things?”

“I didn’t know it was yours.” Louis finally looks up at him like a teenager annoyed by their mother’s nagging. “Ash and I were just working on some lyrics when Lucas called him. I think he and Cal had another fight or something, so Ash let me wait here while he went to go smooth things out.”

Harry sees red in an instant. Just hearing Louis talk about his friends so casually, with  _nicknames_  like he knows them and is included in their loop already, has Harry buzzing.

“So you figured that was your chance to help yourself to my stuff?”

“He’s been gone for a while.” Louis shrugs again. “I was bored. It was under Ash’s bed, so I assumed it was his.”

“Well, that’s because he  _asks_ me to use it. Like you didn’t.”

“Sorry.” Louis says, but before Harry can even start choking on his spit at the fact that Louis just actually apologized to him for something, he follows with, “Harold, can I please use your laptop to continue watching Breaking Bad while I wait for Ashton to get back?”

 

Harry pauses for a moment. He really, really likes Breaking Bad. Maybe his second favorite show after Grey’s Anatomy. Part of him might want to watch even with Louis, never mind that he’s already seen every season at least four times anyway. The show is that good.

 

“You like Breaking Bad?” Harry asks, hesitant in his whole demeanor.

“It’s my favorite show.” Louis’s mouth breaks into this huge, childish grin that tugs on Harry’s heart strings a little. He debates for another breif moment, before finally sighing as he flops down on the opposite end of Ashton’s bed. As far away from Louis as he can get.

“I’ll just… do my homework here. So I can make sure you’re not looking through my things.” He says, sliding the computer towards Louis at the headboard.

“Got a lot of porn on here then, eh?” Louis teases, flipping it open as he settles down with it on his lap again.

“As if.” Harry grumbles, opening his math book to find where he left off.

“Naked pics? Cyber boyfriends? Oh, are you a secret cam boy to pay your way through school?” Louis laughs.

“Will you shut up and just click play?” Harry groans. He’s not exactly sure what he has to hide on his laptop, but he uses it often enough that there’s probably something embarrassing Louis could come across without much effort. At least from where he’s sitting, he can monitor what Louis is doing on the screen. And maybe sneak a few peeks at his favorite parts of certain episodes.

 

 _Episodes_ , plural, because Ashton doesn’t end up coming back that night and they somehow end up watching nearly half a season together into the early hours of the morning.

He wouldn’t really call it bonding, but… it’s the least he’s hated Louis in all the time since knowing him.

 

Harry’s always had a soft spot for Jesse Pinkman, and Louis is a fierce Jesse defender. At some point, the question of heavy drugs is inevitably raised between them and they both agree that anything worse than pot is not worth the risk. Apparently Louis named one of the family cats after Gus, which is pretty funny to learn because Harry has a dog named Walt back at home.

Harry gets up at some point to make himself a bowl of popcorn. As he’s standing at the microwave in their little kitchenette, Louis asks, “Not even gonna offer anything to your guest?”

“You’re not  _my_  guest.” Harry retorts.

“Fine. I’ll remember that in rehearsals tomorrow.” Louis threatens.

“Remember this, too.” Harry gives him the finger.

He shakes his popcorn into a large bowl when it’s done, and doesn’t complain when he settles down again and Louis reaches in for some anyway. They end up sharing the whole thing. 

 

Since it’s easier to relax with a full belly, the space between them seems to have lessened compared to when Harry first sat down. He feels oddly grounded to the point where Louis’s knee is now pressing against his thigh. Not that he actually likes it or anything, but it’s not distracting from his work any more than the show is, so he won’t complain about it either.

 

They super do not address the fact that it’s not until five episodes later when it’s completely dark outside that Louis stretches his arms for a yawn.

“Guess I got ditched tonight, then.” He finally says.

“Too bad you can’t make everyone on Earth run laps when you don’t get your way.” Harry comments.

“That is a shame. Imagine all the things I could do with that kind of power.” Louis muses, sliding off the bed to grab his stuff from the floor.

“I’d really rather not.” A world where Louis is in complete charge would drive Harry to suicide in a matter of minutes.

“Thanks for the popcorn.” Louis says, slinging his bag over one shoulder as he keeps his back turned and shuts the door behind him.

 

Harry would never admit out loud that his room suddenly seems too empty without someone else sitting in the glow of the computer screen.

 

*

 

After just a couple days of avoiding Louis as much as possible, Harry starts to wonder if it’s weird for him to miss arguing with somebody. Not Louis specifically, right? Maybe he just has a more confrontational personality than he realized, and having a target to hit was more of a release than he knew.

On Thursday, Niall points out that he’s been really sulky lately. He chalks it up to exhaustion from 4am rehearsals, ignoring that it’s the lack of attention during rehearsals that’s bugging him. 

 

The fact that Louis’s presence, or lack there of in this case, has any type of affect on his mood outside of pure elation is super annoying. He avoids admitting it to even himself for as long as possible.

 

He goes to bed early on Friday, after a quiet night in binging more Breaking Bad on his own to remind himself that Louis isn’t why he enjoyed it so much the other day. 

It feels like only minutes before he’s woken by a soft tapping on the door. He’s almost not sure it’s even real, but after a few beats the tapping starts again, slightly louder, though still not enough to even stir Ashton from his snoring. Harry focuses on the harsh glow of numbers by his bedside; 2:34AM. He wishes he was as heavy of a sleeper as his roommate, but knows he’ll never get back to dreamland unless the knocking stops.

It doesn’t.

“Go away, Niall.” Harry groans, turning over to face the wall instead.

“Not Niall.” A familiar voice says from the other side of the door.

He almost ignores it. He almost shouts  _fuck off, you bastard, who the hell do you think you are, waking me up at this hour on a weekend?_  He almost gets up to open the door, only to slam it in Louis’s face a moment later. But when Harry swings the door open and sees him standing there, looking all soft and messy in nothing but a pair of checkered pajama pants and an old t-shirt, his breath catches in his throat.

Up until now, whenever he sees Louis, his lungs usually react by letting out a deep, reluctant sigh. This time it’s just stuck, he can’t breathe, like the world and everything in it has come to a momentary halt and the nagging rage under his skin just evaporates into clouds.

That’s when he first realizes.

 

Fuck, fuck,  _fuck_ , he’s in  _love_  with  _Louis_.

 

“What do you want?” He snaps, voice cracking as he desperately tries to push that thought out of his mind and focus on the fact that he’s just been rudely awoken in the middle of the night. By Louis. Louis, who definitely does not look super, extra kissable right now at all.

Louis doesn’t even notice his wavering. That would’ve been the perfect opportunity for him to make some snarky comment about how Harry’s balls are finally dropping or whatever, but Harry can tell he’s drunk by the glaze of his eyes and sour of his breath when he speaks.

“I need you.” Louis says, and Harry’s heart goes from zero to sixty in under half a second.

“I need you—your,” Louis continues, literally falling into Harry’s reflexively outstretched arms as he tries to take a step forward. He nuzzles his face into Harry’s shoulder and takes a big whiff, mouth turning up into a smile against Harry’s bare skin.

“Need your cock.” Louis hums, reaching down to palm Harry through his boxers.

“You’re absolutely wrecked.” Harry assesses. Louis just nods happily into his neck.

“Could be worse.” He says. “You could wreck me more.”

“Louis, go home.” Harry resists, reaching down to detach Louis’s grip from his junk before things get too out of hand down there. He holds Louis steady by his shoulders and takes a careful step back, peeling them apart so he can stare into unfocused grey-blue.

“Can’t. Zayn doesn’t love me anymore.” Louis makes a pouty face and Harry definitely doesn’t feel his heart swell in his chest with how much he wants to kiss it away.

 

Shit, shit, shit. He is in such deep shit.

 

“And what the fuck makes you think I do?” He asks, ignoring the frantic pounding in his chest.

“Don’t need you to love me. Need you to fuck me.” Louis reaches to hug himself close again. He kisses the crook of Harry’s shoulder and Harry feels every hair on his body stand on end. The kisses move, slowly, up his neck and behind his ears and Harry feels a shiver travel down his spine. Louis traces Harry’s jawline with wet lips, and Harry’s eyes flutter shut as he struggles to catch his breath. When he feels another kiss press at the corner of his mouth, he curses at the twist of anticipation in his belly and pulls away.

“You need to lie down.” He says, firmly nodding in Louis’s face to make sure he understands.

“Okay.” Louis agrees, finally letting go to stumble his way into the room.

“Fuck, Louis, I didn’t mean here!” Harry’s voice raises enough for Ashton to stir in his bed across the room, and the two of them still for moment of silence as he adjusts in his sleep. He mumbles something unintelligible and rolls over, settling in on his other side now, face smushed against the pillow when his light snoring starts again.

Louis continues his trek towards Harry’s bed and flops himself stomach-down on the empty mattress.

“Do you ever sleep with him?” He asks, staring at Ashton’s snoozing form on the other side of the room.

“I—what? No, why would I—” Harry starts, confused by the sudden change of subject.

“Not even once? Don’t you want to?” Louis presses.

“I mean… we share a bed sometimes when it’s really cold out, but… why does it matter to you anyway?” Harry answers, tentatively.

“Zayn and I used to sleep together.” Louis continues his train of thought, “It was good. He’s really fit. I don’t like him that way, though. It was just one of those friends with benefits things. He’s my best friend in the whole world, Harry. I love him so much. Not in like, that way, but like. I just love him.”

“Why are you telling me this as if I give a single shit?” Harry snaps, but Louis seems unfazed.

“Just thinking out loud.” He shrugs. “Niall is your best friend though, right? No way have you slept with him. Is he even into guys at all?”

“He’s curious.” Harry says, quickly directing the conversation elsewhere. “I don’t sleep with any of my friends, though. That’d make things too weird.”

“It is tricky.” Louis nods. “Zayn and I were lucky to be able to switch it off so easily. I think what you and I have is much better, though. Don’t have to worry about ruining anything, cause we already hate each other.”

“We don’t have anything.” Harry denies.

“We kind of do. It’s a weird thing, but it’s a thing.” Louis shrugs.

“It’s not a thing.” Harry tells him again, firmer this time.

“It is.” Louis insists.

“No—”

“Jesus Christ, ‘Arry,  _ne soyez pas si stupide_.” Louis quickly slurs a mix of French words and accents. Harry knows enough about the language to recognize the word  _stupid_. He means to tell Louis to shut up, but it comes out sounding more like—

“Don’t say my name like that.”

“Mm, like what,  _‘Arry_?” Louis drawls, teasing.

“Stop it. You’re not even French. You sound ridiculous.” Harry maintains.

“I thought you liked my  _langue française_  skills.” Louis pouts.

“I don’t like anything about you.” Harry says.

“Okay.” Louis says simply. Harry fucking hates that, how Louis treats him like a child he can just patronize everything away with. Like Louis doesn’t even take him seriously, which he admittedly might deserve, given that he treats Louis the same. Always ignoring his authority, refusing to cooperate, because  _whatever,_   _Louis_ …

“I don’t like anything about you, either.” Louis says a moment later, like he forgot to include it with his last statement. Somehow that gives it less power.

“Then why did you decide that coming here to wake me up in the middle of the night would be a good idea?”

“Knew it would piss you off.” Louis mumbles, sleep clinging to every word.

“Mission accomplished. Guess you’ll be on your way now.”

“Too tired to walk. Just wanna get fucked.” Louis objects.

Harry sighs, taking in his sloppy, drunken behavior. Harry’s never seen him like this before and maybe it isn’t the best idea to let this happen, but—Harry does sort of love him. In that way.

  

He closes the door behind him and sits on the edge of his bed, next to Louis who’s stretched across the length of it.

“Why doesn’t Zayn love you anymore?” Harry ventures softly, after a hesitant moment of silence.

Louis chuckles, a humming sound that cutely scrunches his face up all over. “He does. He just has someone over tonight, so I’ve been sexiled. I was being dramatic to play on your sympathies.”

“That’s a big sentence for someone who can barely even stand up on his own right now.” Harry notices.

“Shut up.” Louis says, but it’s teasing, somehow. “’M smart, even when I’m drunk.”

Harry’s not going to admit he’s right. Louis is smart enough to speak two languages. Smart enough to be a tutor. Smart enough to manipulate Harry’s feelings, even amidst his intoxication. Smart enough to see right through all of Harry’s defenses, and smart enough to not catch feelings for his actual worst enemy in the world.

“Why here, though?” Harry wonders instead. “Don’t you have other frien—like, fuck buddies you could bother right now, besides me?”

“Wanted you,” Louis says simply, and if he doesn’t stop saying that Harry’s mind is going to get carried away with the wrong idea. “Want you to fuck me, just you right now. Please?”

“You’re so out of it, Louis.” Harry sighs. “Do you even know who I am?”

“Harry Styles: insufferably self-righteous, lazy, hipster  _asshole_  who does nothing but make my life way more difficult than it needs to be.” Louis says, proving that he’s definitely aware of where he’s at.

“Right. So why me?” Harry tries again. “Why not literally anyone else in the whole school?”

“You’re the best.” Louis says. Harry’s mind doesn’t even have the chance to interpret that incorrectly before he goes on, “The best fuck I have right now. So big. So good. Perfect.”

Harry sighs again, running his fingers through his hair because what the fuck is even going on right now? Louis is in his bed, drunk off his ass, going on about how much he loves Harry’s cock and looking so adorable in his night clothes that Harry almost prefers him to not be wearing anything at all.

“Mutual.” Harry says simply, lifting the covers to climb into bed and lie down next to him.

“You think my cock is perfect?” Louis perks up, pulling himself so close that Harry can feel the warmth of his breath on his face.

“It’s a really nice one.” Harry admits. He won’t give him perfect (out loud, anyway), but he’s willing to admit to its appeal, at least. Something about the dark of the world in the dead of night makes it easy for the lines to blur, for things to be said that in daylight would seem totally inappropriate, but under the stillness of the world at this hour it’s somehow okay. Harry feels very okay right now, snuggled in bed next to Louis. He might even be a little disappointed by the thought that time won’t freeze to keep him there longer.

“How about my legs?” Louis tries.

“They’re really nice, too.” Harry says.  _So nice I could probably get off just by fucking between them. The outside is enough. Just seeing you naked is probably enough. You’re that gorgeous._

“Oh, come on. I gave you ‘perfect’, and all I get is ‘really nice’?” Louis pouts. “What about my arms? My hair? My bum? Those are all my best features.”

Harry chuckles at his fishing for compliments.

“Your eyelashes.” He’s willing to admit.

“My  _what_?” Louis makes a face. “Out of everything about me that is magnificent and worthy of praise, you choose my  _eyelashes_? Not even my eyes, just the lashes?”

“Eyes are pretty too.” Harry says, smiling softly. “But your lashes… they’re so long and lovely, and the way they flutter shut when you look down…”

“You are without a doubt, the quirkiest person I have ever met.” Louis decides after a beat of silence. “Nobody notices people’s eyelashes like that.”

“I don’t notice  _people’s_ , just yours.” Harry blurts, resisting the urge to clamp his hands over his mouth from such a stupid fucking mistake.

“Well, thank you, I guess.” Louis finally says. “You’ve got a perfect cock and I’ve got perfect eyelashes. A winning combination.”

“I’ll say. The way they look splattered in cum is magnificent.” Harry saves himself from utter embarrassment by steering the topic back to sex. Just pure sex. That’s all it is. Louis is really fucking attractive and Harry’s just delirious from sleep deprivation right now. No way is he actually in love with Louis Tomlinson.

“God, now that, I can agree with. Yours too.” Louis breathes. “Please just fuck me right now. I’ll let you cum all over my face if that’s what it takes. Want you to, actually. Please?”

“Jesus, Louis.” Harry sighs. “You really should go home.”

“Just fuck me and I’ll leave you alone.” Louis urges, pressing his body flush against Harry’s, making ridiculous kissy lips at his face.

“I can’t, you’re too drunk.” Harry refuses.

“Don’t tell me you actually have like, a conscience?” Louis groans. “That’s so juvenile. Drunken hookups are an essential part of the University experience.”

Harry chuckles softly at that. “I happen to think that consent is an essential part of any sexual experience.”

“You have my consent. I’m asking you to fuck me, right now, please.” Louis argues.

“Doesn’t count if you’re intoxicated.” Harry dismisses.

“Who says?” Louis whines.

“The official definition of consent?” Harry inflects. “It’s pretty much common knowledge that people make stupid decisions when they’re drunk.”

“Not me. I told you, I’m smart.”

“Remember when you slut danced with me at a party and then two days later, said you weren’t in the right frame of mind when it happened?” Harry recalls, voice going quieter. “Imagine how you’d feel if I took advantage of that now, in a more extreme way.”

“I was just giving you a hard time. You know I couldn’t actually admit that I sort of liked it.” Louis says.

“You did?” Harry asks.

“Of course I did, jeez, didn’t you feel my boner?”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”

“Fair point. That does tend to happen pretty easily for anyone with a dick.”

“But you were turned on that night? Just from dancing on me?” Harry checks.

“I could feel you on my ass.” Louis says. “So big and hard, all for me. That’s when I knew I had to have it.”

“It was a conscious decision for you?” Harry asks. The first time he and Louis hooked up, he didn’t know what to think. He just let his body move on its own and didn’t protest. The fact that Louis might have been considering it before then is a small victory in Harry’s mind.

“Partially.” Louis admits. “Didn’t expect it to happen quite like that, but… knew I wanted it somehow.”

“Hm.” Harry grins in smug satisfaction, teasing, “You wanted to fuck me.”

“We’ve literally done it before. And you wanted it too!” Louis counters.

“Still. You wanted it first.” Harry laughs.

“Shut up.” Louis scoffs, but he’s laughing too.

“Make me.” Harry jokes again, since he’s already acting like a child anyway.

“Please, Harry.  _Please_?” Louis whines, snaking his arms around Harry’s waist, softly rubbing the contours of his lower back. Harry’s knees feel weak when he begs like that; the word  _please_  like a heart-shaped arrow aimed right at his chest, the needy tone of Louis’s voice when he says Harry’s name like a needle full of concentrated euphoria injected right into his veins.

“I wanna suck you off, make you cum all over me.” Louis pathetically goes on, brushing his lips and the tip of his nose across Harry’s collarbones. “Wanna taste you. Want you to fill me up.”

“If you’re not going home, at least go to sleep.” Harry tells him, adamantly resisting.

“Not tired. Horny.” Louis says, but Harry can feel the weak flutter of his eyelids struggling to stay open.

“You won’t be in the morning.”

“Don’t want to sleep here. Just want to get off here.” Louis half-mumbles, and Harry can’t understand why that stings so badly. Of course Louis wouldn’t want to sleep here. Harry doesn’t want him to sleep there either (right?), he just doesn’t want to have to carry him back to his dorm, three buildings and two flights of stairs away.

 

“Where’d you learn to speak French so well?” Harry asks, effectively distracting him from his intended mission.

“Been spending my summers in France since I was just a kid.” Louis smiles like he’s busy reliving all the memories. “My uncle owns a vineyard in the countryside. You should see it, Haz.  _C’est la plus belle chose_.”

Harry’s heart leaps at the nickname. He tells himself Louis is beyond the point of thinking about the things that come out of his mouth right now, and maybe sort of takes advantage of it.

“I’ve always loved the language. Can you teach me something?”

“Sure.” Louis grins, a little too eager. “Say:  _Je vais vas te faire encule insensé soir_.”

Harry repeats it back as best as he can, but it sounds smoother and more enticing on Louis’s lips. “What’s it mean?” He asks.

“I’m going to fuck you senseless tonight.” Louis translates. “God bless the hot French boys for teaching me that one.”

Harry doesn’t want to think about how many hot French boys he has to compete with in Louis’s mind. He doesn’t want to think about competing with hot American boys in Louis’s mind either. Or British boys or Aussie boys, or any boys.

 

Fuck his fucking life.

 

“So, since you did say it to me, that’s like consent, right?” Louis presses.

“No, fuck you.” Harry says, but it’s light and meaningless.

“Yeah, exactly.” Louis says, pressing a kiss to Harry’s shoulder. Harry knows he should push him away, but being pressed so close against Louis has his mind in a flurry. Louis might be weak for his cock, but Harry is weak for his touch.

His fingers find their way to the elastic of Harry’s boxers, running softly along the baby-smooth skin there, before starting their upwards trek across Harry’s abs, over his chest, carefully circling all four of his nipples, soft and slow. He probably doesn’t realize how long he spends just petting his hands along Harry’s torso, and Harry isn’t about to complain.

Eventually, he gets brave. He pulls himself closer still and Harry feels him everywhere, wants him as much as possible without crossing any lines, so he doesn’t object when Louis climbs on top. He straddles his legs on either side of Harry’s as he presses his chest flat against Harry’s, just laying draped on top of him, pressing kisses into the warmth of his neck and shoulders.

“Louis—” Harry whispers, but Louis cuts him off with his lips. His breath is hot and tangy like the alcohol he’s poured down his throat and it shouldn’t make sense for that to taste good, but Harry can’t let go.

He kisses back, sweet and gentle, like nothing they’ve ever done before. This is on a whole new level of sexy. This isn’t rough biting and angry heaving, it’s not frantic grabbing or aggressive thrusts, there’s no biting or scratching or leaving otherwise painful marks. It’s careful and lazy, almost affectionate, and he doesn’t think Louis can even tell the difference right now.

He feels a hardness press into his own slow-forming bulge, then the sensation lessens, and comes back again heavier than before. Louis is rolling his hips forward, rubbing them together between layers of fabric, and Harry feels so fucking hot all over at just the thought of Louis rutting so desperately against him like that.

They kiss for so long Harry sees deep space behind his eyes and there’s a wet spot on his shorts from where Louis is grinding into him. Neither of them gets off from it, but he knows when Louis’ low panting calms back down to tiny, gentle breaths that he’s finally given up and drifted off to sleep. Harry follows only minutes later, way too comfortable under the warm weight still on top of him.

 

*

 

He wakes up in the morning by himself. If it weren’t for the smell of vodka and tea and something slightly spicy, manly, he’d be sure he just dreamt it all. But he didn’t. Louis actually came to his room last night, drunk off his ass and begging to be fucked. Harry let him borrow his bed, and Louis repaid him by sneaking out too early for anyone to know.

He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but he really shouldn’t be so surprised.

Something vicious rips through him and whatever stupid, foolish part of his brain that thought he might actually  _love_  Louis gets buried underneath the epiphany avalanche that he really hates him more than ever before.

 

 

***

 

 

The very next Monday morning rehearsal, Louis calls Harry to stay behind again. He was supposed to meet with Liam for another extra dance session, but Louis tells him it won’t be necessary. That he’s decided it’s best for everyone if he just continues training Harry in private from now on.

“If you think this is going to be a repeat of last time, you’re wrong.” Harry says as soon as Louis is done explaining.

“I don’t think I am.” Louis says, cool and calm as ever.

“You are.” Harry maintains.

“Okay.” Louis patronizes.

“Fuck you, Louis. It’s not happening ever again.” Harry growls.

“Okay.” Louis says again, and Harry could punch him right in the fucking mouth just to wipe that smug look from it.

 

He kisses it away instead. Just surges forward and crashes their lips together, fierce and needy and fueled by anger, like his body’s working single-handedly to settle the pesky Louis craving that’s been plaguing him ever since that first time. He couldn’t have stopped it if he wanted, and maybe despite what he’s been saying all along, he does sort of want it. Maybe more than sort of.

 

They don’t get any dancing done at all once the two of them are covered in each other’s cum. Again, they wordlessly clean up, pull their pants back on and waltz out of the room one at a time, as if they were perfect strangers who’d never spoken to each other a day in their lives.

 

It happens like that two days later. And three times in the next week, until it just becomes routine. An exciting routine that always has Harry on edge, like he could burst any second just from watching Louis move. Watching him bounce on Harry’s dick, watching him swallow it whole, watching his hole contract around the fingers curled inside him.

Louis is fucking magnificent, drop-dead gorgeous, Harry can’t even believe it sometimes. That out of everyone in the whole school, the whole state, the entire continental U.S., Louis would choose him to fuck. Even if that’s all it was; just pure, mindless, rage-induced fucking on his part, Harry would take it just to consider himself lucky enough to have memorized the way Louis’s face contorts and relaxes all at once with his orgasms.

 

Until one day, Louis asks Niall to stay late after rehearsals. He doesn’t spare a glance in Harry’s direction as the team gathers their stuff and clears out of the room, though Harry gives Niall a look over his shoulder as he leaves. Niall only shrugs like he’s just as clueless, and Harry doesn’t know how to feel about anything all afternoon.

 

*

 

“What  _happened_?” He bombards Niall in his room as soon as he gets the text that Niall’s on his way back. “What did he want from you? What did you talk about? Did he say anything about me?”

Niall just slings his duffel bag into a corner of the room and kicks off his shoes. He doesn’t say a word, and that makes Harry’s stomach twist because Niall is  _never_  quiet.

“Niall, tell me what the fuck happened!” He presses.

“Nothing happened.” Niall shrugs. “He just wanted to, like, train me, or whatever, like he’s been doing with you.”

“You know damn well we haven’t been training for anything except maybe the Sexual Olympics.” Harry says.

“Yeah, but you trained with Liam for a while. And it was like… that.” Niall says, flopping down onto the bed. “Dancing, chilling, whatever. Louis is a pretty cool guy when he’s not on one of his fuckin’ power trips.”

Harry’s jaw hangs slack. Niall’s never had as much of a rivalry with Louis as he does, but. Niall is his best friend, so they have to hate the same people. What changed so much in one afternoon that’s got him suddenly alright with admitting Louis is kind of cool?

“Niall.” Harry says firmly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Don’t be mad.” Niall gives a little, nervously biting his lip.

“ _Niall_.” Harry presses again, knowing he’s hiding something.

“He kissed me.” Niall finally blurts, and Harry punches him in the arm. Hard.

“Sorry, that was a reflex, I’m so sorry!” Harry apologizes at the same time Niall curses and reaches up to rub over the afflicted area.

“Your reflex is to punch anyone who kisses Louis now?” Niall complains.

“You kissed him!” Harry growls. “Why would you do that to me?”

“Okay, hang on. First of all, I said  _he_  kissed  _me_.” Niall clarifies. “And if you’d have let me finish before starting your assault, I was going to say that I pushed him off right away.”

“Tell me exactly how it happened.” Harry demands.

“After everyone left, he explained about the extra help or whatever, and we went through the routine a few times before taking a break. So we’re sitting there on the ground, catching our breath, and he just turns to me and goes ‘Are you into guys at all?’ like, out of fucking nowhere.” Niall relays. “So I told him, you know, I’ve never like, had a dude before, but I wouldn’t mind trying it. With the right person. And there was this awkward silence before he just leaned over and fucking planted one right on me.”

Harry just sits, fuming, imagining Louis’s lips actually on another person, let alone Harry’s dearest friend.

“So I just pulled away and told him I’m not going to do anything with him, ever. He seemed pretty offended by that. Just thought you might like to know.”

Harry nods for him to continue.

“I just told him, like, with you two already messing around, I’m not interested in your sloppy seconds.” Niall grins. “Again, he was offended, but like… it was cool. He was really respectful about it. He just made a joke and we laughed it off and went back to dancing and that’s it, I swear.”

“The fucking nerve of him.” Harry says, reddened inside. “Why would he try that with you, of all people? Not that you’re not adorable and all, but he must have known you’d tell me about it.”

“I think that was the point.” Niall guesses.

“You think he wanted me to find out?”

“Well, yeah. Isn’t that your game? Piss each other off until one of you snaps and you end up fucking it out?” Niall shrugs.

“This isn’t fair.” Harry rants anyway. “There’s plenty of other ways to get under my skin that don’t involve tonguing someone else. He knows that.”

“Have you talked at all about just keeping this thing between you two?” Niall asks. “I mean, technically he wasn’t cheating or anything. You guys aren’t even together.”

“Far from it.” Harry spits. “Never gonna happen. I hate him so much.”

Niall hesitates for a moment, biting his lip into his mouth, clearly debating whether or not he should say, “I don’t think ya do anymore.”

“What are you saying?” Harry plays dumb.

“I mean, yeah, it obviously started that way, but… I think now you’re just  _trying_  to hate him. You really don’t, though.” Niall observes.

“I do hate him.” Harry insists. “I have to, otherwise having sex with him when he clearly hates  _me_  and just wants to upset me any chance he gets would be a terrible, stupid idea, right?”

“Alright,” Niall doesn’t press it any further, but Harry can tell he knows. Harry just isn’t ready to admit it out loud yet, and thank god he gets that.

“Just be careful, man. You know I care about you and stuff. Don’t wanna see you get hurt, that’s all.”

“I’m fine. Louis doesn’t have the ability to hurt me that way.” Harry maintains.

 

*

 

Harry doesn’t bring it up and neither does Louis. It’s gotten to a point where they don’t need to be arguing or even know  _why_  they’re mad to fuck anymore. When it’s Harry’s turn to stay behind, it doesn’t usually take more than a few minutes for them to tear each other’s clothes off and sometimes Harry doesn’t understand how he’s so easy. Every little thing that irks him about Louis seems to build up throughout the day and it all gets released inside Louis’s ass, or all in Harry’s hair, or on each other’s faces. They hardly talk about it anymore, but it’s impossible not to constantly think about.

Sometimes Louis asks other random teammates to stay behind, too. People who Harry really hasn’t noticed falling out of step when they all dance together, so he wonders what that’s about. He doesn’t say anything about that either, until its Liam name that’s called at the end of rehearsals.

That hits Harry’s gut like a sack of rocks, because Liam doesn’t need help with his dancing. So what’s going on in these extra lessons, anyway? Dirty as Louis can be, Harry highly doubts he’s fucking the whole team. But Liam? His stomach twists with the idea.

 

“What’s your deal?” Harry finally asks the next time they’re alone.

“What’s my  _deal_?” Louis repeats, immediately put off by his tone.

“Yeah. With this dance tutoring thing.” Harry says.

“You’re asking why I’m trying to help the team improve on the routine we’re trying to win a massive competition with.” Louis sasses.

“I’m asking why you tried to kiss my best friend and what the hell does Liam need extra dance help for?” Harry says, staring him down with crossed arms.

Louis looks confused for a brief moment, but then his face settles into smoothness before he asks, “Is this some kind of jealousy thing?”

“What? That’s not even—no. Of course I’m not jealous.” Harry stumbles over his lines.

“Then I don’t understand what the problem is here.” Louis stares blankly.

“I just know how our ‘dance practices’ always go.” Harry says, alluding to the rest with just a look.

“So you’re insinuating that you think I’m sleeping with half the team.” Louis concludes.

“Are you?” Harry blurts, raising his voice a little more than he’d thought.

Louis blinks at him a few times, processing. Harry’s spent enough time staring at that face to notice when, for a tiny fraction of a second, it looks distressed. Then he’s collected again in the next instant.

“No. I’m not.” He finally says. Just that. No witty comeback or sly remark or even annoyance. Harry almost doesn’t want to trust him, because nothing is ever that easy to get out of him.

“I’m supposed to just believe that?”

“I don’t care what you believe. It is what it is.” Louis shrugs. “It shouldn’t matter to you anyway, seeing as you seem to have forgotten we’re not exclusive. I can kiss and fuck whoever I want.”

“I didn’t forget that, how could I?” Harry snaps. Louis reminds him daily, every time he wiggles his pants back on and leaves without a word. Every time he avoids looking Harry in the eyes after, and the way Harry still can’t catch a break from him outside of their sex life either. It’s always blatantly obvious to him that this is nothing more than sex for Louis.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Louis asks. “Why are you acting like some kind of whiny boyfriend all of a sudden?”

“God, Louis, get your head out of your ass!” Harry’s voice booms off the walls. “I’m just concerned about being involved with someone who might be spreading their legs all over town. I really don’t want to catch anything from you.”

“Then just ask me if I’m clean, dickhead!” Louis retorts, yelling now too. “Don’t come at me fishing for details about my personal life like that. It’s none of your damn business who else I’m sleeping with.”

“Are you clean, dickhead?” Harry shouts, sassing him twice as hard now. Louis’s nostrils flare like he’s trying to fight the urge to smack Harry across the face. 

“Yes. A week ago was my last checkup.” He answers, teeth clenched. “Happy?”

“Whatever.” Harry mutters.

“Honestly, don’t go getting all weird on me now.” Louis says slowly. “I am so not interested in all the petty relationship drama, and that’s not even close to what this is anyway.”

“Jesus, Louis, I  _know_.” Harry emphasizes. He really wishes Louis would stop saying that. It stings bad enough to think about, let alone to actually hear out loud. “I wasn’t trying to catch you in anything, or tell you that you can’t sleep around if you want. I’m just looking out for my own health.”

“Good.” Louis says, still holding Harry’s gaze. “Because the last thing we need is for one of us to catch feelings here.”

“Please. The only feeling I’ll ever have for you is eternal hatred.” Harry lies. His heart pounds against his ribcage in rebellious contradiction.

“Prove it.” Louis pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it to the floor. Harry swallows, knowing where this is going. He hates  _himself_  for not being able to keep his hands off, for not even trying to hold back anymore. Louis is too tempting for his own good, and Harry hates that he knows how to use it to his advantage.

 

Louis is the fucking devil.

 

Harry closes the distance between them with one long stride. Louis reaches up to wrap his arms around Harry’s neck, and hops up once he has a good grip. His legs wrap around Harry’s waist almost out of instinct, and Harry feels the stable gates open to let the blood race through his veins as their lips fit together. He’s not sure if it’s the hatred or the lust or the  _love_  that makes it this good every time, but Harry’s starving for it. For any kind of attention from Louis that doesn’t include an argument.

The kiss deepens and he gets needy, whining into Harry’s mouth as he rubs himself against the growing bulge in his pants. They’ve done this enough now that they’re getting too comfortable with each other, and aren’t afraid to get nasty. Harry loves it like that, absolutely loses his mind when Louis wants him so bad he’s begging for it, ready to do anything to satisfy his feral craving  _now_.

Suddenly Harry  _is_ jealous, because he remembers Louis telling him he’s the best. This is the best. Nobody can fuck Louis like he can, so what reason does Louis have to go looking for it elsewhere, other than just being a desperate slut for it?

He peels Louis off and backs away, ordering him to the floor.

Louis doesn’t usually listen well, so Harry’s honestly a bit surprised when he yanks his pants off and gets down on his stomach right away. He pulls his knees up and spreads his legs, back arching to put his perfect arse on display, tight little hole quickly pulsing once around nothing.

Harry bites his knuckle, trying to hold back a scream at the glorious sight of him, ready and waiting to be taken however Harry wants.

“Shit, Lou,” He says on a low whistle. He strips down to his briefs and falls to his knees, scooting closer to Louis’s behind. “You’re gonna fucking kill me.” He marvels, spreading his hand out over Louis’s right cheek, feeling down the back of his thigh, moving back up to lightly squeeze the globe between the spaces of his fingers.

“Good.” Louis hisses. He turns his head against the floor to look back at Harry with defiance in his eyes, despite the way he’s presented himself right at Harry’s disposal.

Harry smirks, deciding to pull his hand back and land a firm smack right in the middle of Louis’s cheek. Louis yelps at the sting, quickly biting his lip into his mouth as he shivers and wiggles for more.

“Like it?” Harry tires again, hitting the same exact spot again. Louis groans low and long from the back of his throat, his breath coming quicker as Harry watches the skin begin to redden in the shape of his large palm. Louis nods frantically, past the point of words now as those blue blue irises have gone all wild and pleading.

Harry smacks him a few more times, switching to his left hand and aiming for the other cheek as he stares on in awe, painfully hard from the sight of Louis squirming underneath him.

“ _Please_.” Louis begs, breathless and pathetic as Harry sends the final crack to his ass.

“Please, what?” He asks harmlessly, soothing his own sore hand up and down Louis’s burning skin.

“Anything.” Louis whines, “Just, more. Please.”

 _Anything_. He says, with his arse spread open only inches away from Harry’s face. Harry suddenly wants to taste him so bad he has to swallow the saliva pooling in his mouth from it as he brings his head down closer to that sweet spot.

“Can I?” He breathes hot against the tight muscle. Louis keens, deepening the curve of his back, arching even further towards Harry as he nods again like he can’t wait another second.

Harry lays his tongue flat against Louis’s hole, something surging through him while his ears ring with the sound of Louis’s whimper. He licks a slow stripe up the crack of his ass, and Louis gasps as his hand shoots up from the floor to squeeze around the base of his cock, trying not to come already.

Louis tastes truly irresistible. Harry runs his tongue back and forth over the rim, teasing as he slicks him up enough to poke his tongue in just the tiniest bit. Louis squeaks a curse and his free hand moves to grip the back of his thigh, squeezing as he finds something to hold onto for dear life. Harry pushes his face in as deep as he can, tongue sliding all the way in, wiggling as Harry slurps against the puckered skin. Louis screams, his free hand moving back to the floor by his head again, smacking hard against the polished wood as he struggles to control his sounds.

Even with as needy as he gets for cock, Harry’s never seen him this unchained before. He’d thought sex was Louis’s weakness, but it turns out  _this_  is the real way to make him go crazy. Harry’s a bit crazy with it too, searing inside as he spreads Louis’s cheeks and laps at his hole, feeling the smooth warmth around him and the spit drip from his chin.

He slides a finger in when he can and Louis bites down on his tiny fist as he clenches around it, knuckles going white against the floor. Harry works him open slowly, still worming his tongue around, pressing in another finger and then a third soon after. Louis has become nothing but a sweaty, whiny mess beneath him, babbling a string of curses between his incoherent moans.

It catches them both off guard when Harry aims for the little bundle of nerves inside and Louis instantly tightens around Harry’s face, coughing out a sob as his dick twitches and spills all over the floor without even being properly touched.

Harry holds him steady as he pants through it, keeping his face at Louis’s hole and sucking him relentlessly until he stops fidgeting and melts into the ground.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, oh my god, Harry, oh my  _god_.” He sighs. Harry pokes his head up to wipe the slobber off his mouth with the back of his hand. He looks down at Louis, whose face has relaxed into something utterly delicate and pliant, eyes softly shut as his lips rest turned up into an actual smile.

 

Harry burns at that, because clearly he  _can_  make Louis happy, but it’s just not enough. It’s never going to be enough.

 

He channels those thoughts into slicking himself up over the condom, desperate to actually fuck it out of his system because he doesn’t know how else to deal with the fact that Louis doesn’t want him until Harry’s buried in his ass, one way or another.

He pushes in quick, easily bottoming out since Louis is plenty stretched and more than ready. Louis groans, cut off in the middle of it as Harry pulls out and slams back in quick and hard. He doesn’t give Louis time to adjust before he doubles into it, losing any pretense of control as he fucks him roughly into the floor.

Louis’s breathing gets choppy, turning into little  _ah ah ah oh fuck ah Harry_ s as Harry slams into his sensitive hole, hand pressed firmly between his shoulder blades to keep him still, all Harry’s to take however he pleases.

“Fucking love it, don’t you, Lou?” Harry gruffs, leaning down over his back to brush his lips at Louis’s ear. He lives for these little victories, when Louis is the one who makes a helpless fool of himself because of Harry for once.

Louis whines and nods hysterically, eyes squeezed shut now as Harry lands another smack to his ass and keeps pounding into him.

“Such a slut for it, don’t even care if it’s someone you hate.” Harry teases, nevermind that it takes two to tango. He’s not the one lying in a pool of his own come, pleading for more even as he’s currently stuffed full.

“What if someone found us like this?” Harry pants, stilling inside just to hear Louis moan in frustration and start bouncing back against him. “Wide open for me, crying like a little bitch cause you just can’t get enough.”

Louis starts sputtering and actually crying; trying to get himself off, knowing it won’t do any good until Harry gives it to him again. Too much pride to verbally beg for it.

“Anyone could walk in right now.” Harry reminds him, fucking down hard once, making Louis choke out a sound and spread his legs further apart. “See how well you take it. You’d like that too, huh? Someone watching you get wrecked.”

“Fucking hell, Harry,” Louis breathes, “Please, please, please, just—please, I—”

“Probably let them fuck you right after, hm?” Harry asks, smacking his ass again before he sits back and grips around Louis’s hips, pulling him up into Harry’s lap, back pressed flush against chest. “Two dicks within seconds of each other, and you’d still want more. Bet you  _would_  let the whole team take you.” He slams deep into him now, feeling Louis’s prostate nudge at the tip of his dick every time he thrusts up.

Louis has become dead weight in Harry’s arms, his head falling back against Harry’s shoulder as he sings in high arousal, letting himself be used. Harry reaches in front of him to wrap a hand around Louis’s reddened cock and stroke in time with his thrusts.

“Gonna come for me again?” Harry whispers, brushing his lips softly against Louis’s, slowing to a grind inside him as Louis loses it, shivering in his lap and panting hard against Harry’s mouth as he squirts hot white down the hand still working him.

“That's a good little slut.” Harry coos, sucking Louis’s lip into his mouth, swallowing the last of his weak whimpers as he kisses him slowly. He gives two more weak little thrusts before he sees stars, pulsing inside the condom and collapsing backwards onto the floor when he’s spent.

 

For the first time ever, Louis doesn’t walk away as soon as they’re done. He rolls off and lies on his back next to Harry, both staring wordlessly up at the ceiling as they take a few moments to let their breathing regulate again.

Finally, Louis is the one to break their little bubble with a hushed, “You might think I’m an asshole, Harry, but I’m not a liar.”

“None of my damn business anyway.” Harry throws his words back at him, dull and unfocused. He’s just trying to figure out how things got this fucked up and maybe if there’s any way to fix it now that lets him still get to have Louis like this, just without the complications.

Louis doesn’t say anything for a few more beats, and then, “I just had a talk with Liam to see if he’d want to help with extra vocal training for some of the guys who’ve been asking.”

Harry’s still not sure if he buys it. Something in his gut has been screaming at him all along that this messing around could only lead to bad things, and maybe it’s time for him to start actually listening.

“I’m pretty sure that’s the entirety of our interested teammates, but for the record I’m not fucking any of them either. Those were honest dance lessons.” Louis goes on, “I have one other person I call to get off with sometimes, and every now and then I’ll bring someone home when I go out, though not in a while because I’ve been getting so out of it that Zayn usually has to help keep me safe all night.”

And, okay. That was more than Harry asked for, and only a little bit comforting to hear. He didn’t honestly think Louis was sleeping with the rest of the team, but he might lie awake for too long at night sometimes, wondering if Louis is with someone, hoping he’s alone and trying not to think of Harry too. He’s always known Louis isn’t exactly a prude about giving it up, but it still unsettles something inside him to know for a fact that Harry isn’t the only lay in his life right now. Louis is consuming his entire world, and Harry is barely a blip on the radar for him.

“What about Niall?” Harry finally asks.

Louis bites his tongue for a moment, but ultimately decides to rip the bandage off. “I was just trying to mess with your head then. If he went for it I would’ve only made out with him a little anyway, but I knew he wouldn’t.”

“What is the matter with you?” Harry rolls onto his side, back facing Louis, disturbed by the honesty he didn’t realize he wasn’t ready to hear.

Silence again. Either Louis really doesn’t know what to say for himself right now, or he just gets a kick out of keeping Harry on edge all the time. 

He feels Louis sit up next to him, and swears he’s being watched for a moment.

“I don’t know.” Louis finally sighs.

There’s some shuffling noises, like he’s gathering his clothes and shoving things back into his bag. 

Harry wants to curl into a ball and pull the blankets up over his head and hide from everything on Earth. Unfortunately he’s not in his bed; he’s lying naked on the cold ground of a dance studio while his hate-fuckbuddy remains completely unaffected as he dresses to leave again. Harry tries not to cave in while he regrets every choice he’s made over the past few months that led him to this point in life.

When Louis walks off towards the door this time, Harry can’t watch him go.

 

*

 

Somehow he finds himself sitting in his dorm that night, eating right from the container of Rocky Road ice cream with Taylor Swift playing in the background as he burns through a bunch of queer indie films on Netflix, only half paying attention anyway. His thoughts are too clouded up with goddamn Louis again.

Ashton doesn’t get home until its dark outside and Harry couldn’t be bothered to get up and turn on the light, so when it flicks on he actually hisses and squints his eyes to adjust.

“What the hell did I just walk into?” Ashton greets, throwing his bag on his bed as he kicks off his shoes.

“I’m in mourning.” Harry says simply, shoving his mouth full with the last bite of ice cream soup while he continues to stare at his computer screen.

“What for?” He asks.

“My sanity. My old life. My chance at any sort of real happiness in the future.” Harry sounds like a teenager going through their emo phase.

“It looks like you’re trying to get over a breakup in here. Did something happen with Louis?” Ashton guesses.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Harry mumbles.

“I know, but…” Ashton sort of trails off, wondering how to phrase it, “It’s not like you’ve got anything going on with someone else right now.”

“He does.” Harry says, and he can hear the gears in Ashton’s brain click as they work to fit it all together.

“Oh.” He says a moment later. “And that’s… not something you wanted to know.”

“No, I asked.” Harry corrects, finally pausing the movie to look up at him. Taylor still sings the soundtrack to their conversation, something about a boy who fucked up the best thing he ever had. “I just didn’t think it would feel like this.”

Ashton sighs for him. “I’m sorry, man.”

“Not your fault. I’m the idiot who fell for someone that couldn’t care less if I was hit by a bus tomorrow.” Harry says. “He’d probably be the one who wished for it.”

“Hate to say it, but I knew this was a bad idea from the beginning.” Ashton says lamely.

“I did too.” Harry sighs. “I didn’t know  _this_  would happen, but… I knew it couldn’t end well.”

“So it’s over, then?” Ashton asks.

“Probably not. Hence the pity party.” Harry groans at his own disgust for himself.

He still doesn’t want to stay away. He knows nothing will ever change for Louis, but things have changed too much for Harry. If he can’t love Louis, then he’s just going to keep loving the mind-blowingly amazing sex instead.

“Winter holiday is just around the corner. I think a couple weeks away from all this will be good for you.” Ashton says, knowing Harry’s headed home soon. Ashton can’t afford to fly back to see his family this year, but Harry knows he’ll still enjoy the holidays here with his boys. Luke and Calum have been getting along again too, so it should be all fun without the drama. Harry really likes the sound of that.

“I’m already counting down the days.” He cracks a hint of a smile now. He does miss his mum. Gemma will be home too, and it’ll be so nice to catch up with them both, and to see his cousins and the rest of his family at Christmas. He just hates that he’s actually going to  _miss_  Louis.

Who even is he anymore?

 

*

 

On stage at the Semi-finals, right before holiday break, and Louis keeps  _looking_  at him. Harry’s trying to focus on the dance steps, making sure that the practice he put in with Liam had paid off at least a little, but Louis doesn’t normally watch him while they perform and it’s throwing him off. He keeps catching Louis’s eyes trained on him for just a half-second, before they make eye contact and Louis pretends he wasn’t directly staring Harry down. It’s  _distracting_. Harry spends the whole routine trying to ignore it, so he’s barely ready for when the team parts aside and someone urges him forward for his solo.

He scrambles to get his brain on track, looking out into the sea of random faces in the crowd as he sings his lines:

 

_No masters or kings when the ritual begins_

_There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin_

_In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene_

_Only then I am human_

_Only then I am clean_

 

_Ooh oh!_

_Amen,_

_amen, amen._

 

He can just feel Louis’s gaze boring into the back his head through every word, as if his presence wasn’t already ringing through them in Harry’s mind.

 

Everything happens so fast after that. The choreography has brought them all around to swarm him back into the group, but Harry moves a little too slow and his leg is just a fraction of a second behind the rest of his body when Louis steps forward. He trips, stumbling into Harry’s back and almost taking him out too. They both use each other for balance as the rest of the team tries to press on through the routine, wide-eyed in panic.

 

Harry swears it was a total accident. Why would he try to mess up the whole team  _on stage at a competition_? But of course Louis would assume it was malicious of him anyway. His eyes darken as he literally pushes Harry back into step, so hard that he ends up stumbling even further out of place.

So Harry does a really stupid thing.

It was Louis’s fault he messed up in the first place, he was _trying_ to break Harry’s concentration and it fucking worked. Embarrassed and annoyed and not thinking right, Harry just reacts. He lunges forward and pushes Louis even harder, so he falls into a tall alto named Andrew, then Andrew topples over into Zayn, and then the whole team is becomes a mess as Louis literally tackles Harry to the ground in retaliation.

 

It’s not a fight, really, because they won’t even punch each other. Louis just yanks at his hair  _really hard_  and Harry tries to push him off, but Louis has him pinned between his legs. So Harry bites his arm and Louis hisses but doesn’t even budge, just smacks Harry across the face and the crowd gasps again. Harry smacks him back even harder and rolls them over, so they end up wrestling like a couple of eight year olds in the middle of a performance.

 

Harry calms down when he feels Niall’s arms around his, pulling him off and talking in his ear. It takes both Zayn and Liam to restrain Louis and drag him backstage, and even then his eyes still scream murder as they bore directly into Harry’s from at least twenty feet away. All the stage lights shut off and the announcer orders them to the back with a simple apology for “technical difficulties”, promising that the show will continue shortly.

 

The commotion among the team is insane. Mostly everyone yelling at the two of them for constantly being at each other’s throats.

“This is getting ridiculous. So unprofessional.” Someone grumbles.

“If we lose because of this, I fucking quit.” Another voice agrees.

“We don’t care that you guys don’t get along, but now it’s starting to affect everyone!”

“We’re not gonna let you assholes drag the rest of us down!”

“Louis is the one who fucking started it!” Harry defends himself.

“Shut up shitdick, everyone saw you fucking trip me!” Louis growls, wiggling out of Zayn and Liam’s grip now, still keeping his distance regardless.

“Accidentally! Because you were  _trying_  to psych me out!” Harry yells.

“I wasn’t doing shit to you! You might’ve just cost us our spot at Nationals over nothing!” Louis spits.

“God, will you two just fuck already and get it out of your system so we can actually be a team for once?” Andrew shouts, silencing the chaos. Harry and Louis keep staring at each other in menace, both knowing full well how much that doesn’t solve anything between them.

“Louis, you ran into him by accident. You didn’t have to fucking push him out of your way, and Harry, you’re a fucking idiot for not waiting until we finished our set to brawl it out. You’re  _both_  starting to affect all of us, and you  _both_  need to fucking do something about it or there won’t be a team left to ruin!”

 

A loud cackle turns all of their attention to the left, where The Femattas are watching on. Arms crossed over their chests, smug looks on every single face. They’re dressed in black and gold tonight, glittering like little faeries of death as they edge their way to the curtain in preparation for their turn. The stage lights turn back on and the announcer gets the crowd hyped as he starts their intro.

“Remember ladies, we’re all in this together.” Their captain announces, deliberately loud enough for both teams to hear. She shoots the boys a look as she continues to address her squad, “Teamwork is everything, so let’s go out there and have each other’s backs so we can kill the competition tonight!”

Her little army cheers in support, and they all move in for a big group hug before filing out on stage.

 

The entire team turns around to glare at Harry and Louis like the embarrassments that they are.

Louis’s name is called by some official in a suit and he gives Harry one last dirty look before following the person into a private room, where he’ll no doubt be getting reamed for their incompetence.

Harry can only hope that the good part of their performance was enough to secure their spot in New York later this year.

 

*

 

It’s a little past six in the morning when Harry gets the call, and he answers without checking the screen just to make the ringtone shut up.

“What?” He barks at whoever’s just decided to wake him this early in the middle of winter vacation.

“Harry, thank fucking god.” Louis breathes, sounding genuinely happy to hear Harry’s voice for maybe the first time ever.

“Why the hell are you bothering me this early on one of the handful of days out of the year when I’m supposed to be free from your wrath?” Harry groans.

He really has enjoyed the past week away from school and everything Louis. It’s easier to see that life goes on and things can still have value without him. Just as he was starting to feel like he could breathe again, here comes Louis, ready to drag him back down into the pit.

“You know I wouldn’t unless it was an absolute last resort, so, here goes.” Louis sighs, quickly blurting, “I’ve just spent the entire night in county jail and I need someone to come pick me up. My mum thinks I’m an angel. She’d probably implode on herself if I called her about it.”

“So you call  _me_?” Harry raises his voice. “Don’t you have any friends at home who can babysit you? Where is Zayn?”

“Who the fuck do you think was with me when I got caught?” Louis retorts.

“Hey, Harry!” Zayn’s voice sounds like he’s shouting from far away. “Please don’t leave us stranded here, I already used my one call so you’re our last hope!” He says very quickly.

“What did you even do?” Harry wonders.

“Whatever, we just had some pot in the wrong place, wrong time.” Louis grumbles. “I’ve only got like 20 seconds left so we’ll explain when you get here. San Diego County. Leave as soon as you can, and I’ll pay you back for bail when you drop us off at mine.”

The line goes dead before Harry can even try to object. Fury bubbles up within him and he almost just turns his phone off and goes back to sleep. San Diego is at the very least, a two hour drive from home sweet home just outside of LA. Plus Friday morning rush hour traffic? Let them rot in jail, who gives a shit? It would save Harry the trouble of ever having to deal with Louis again.

 

But, he can’t. He can’t because he’s just not the sort of person to ignore a cry for help like that. He also sort of really wants to know why Louis would trust him enough to count on at a time like this, and realizes when he’s about halfway dressed that it’s probably because he knew Harry wouldn’t be able to say no. Damn him for always getting it right.

 

Gemma’s already up, eating cereal in the kitchen before her usual morning run. She notices Harry’s hastily dressed and heading for the door and calls, “Morning to you too, baby bro. Where’s the fire?”

“Fucking San Diego.” Harry grumbles as he grabs his keys from the door side table and rushes out to his car.

He knows that’s something he’ll have to deal with when he gets home, but. One thing at a time. He’s super not ready to explain to his family that he’s taking a long drive at the crack of dawn to pick up his secret screw from a holding cell near the Mexican border. Never mind that they still think he and Louis are mortal enemies to each other, that would raise a whole other set of questions he just doesn’t have time for. He’ll use the drive on the way back to think of how to explain all that.

 

“I cannot even begin to express my gratitude for your beautiful soul right now.” Zayn says, holding Harry’s face between both hands and smacking a huge kiss on his lips as he climbs into the passenger seat. Harry can’t say it’s the worst thanks he’s ever gotten.

“Yeah, really.” Louis seconds, much less enthusiastically, as he climbs into the back seat.

“This one was so drunk last night, he wouldn’t even hear it when I told him not to light up because the cop was  _right fucking there_.” Zayn explains, turning to give Louis a nasty look for it.

“I’m a free spirit, Z. I can’t be worried about things like _laws_ and the difference between right and wrong.” Louis waves him off. He still hasn’t even looked Harry in the eyes yet, and after Harry unexpectedly drove all the way down here to bail his ass out of jail this early in the morning, that really stings. Once again Louis has made him feel lower than the bottom of the ocean, and Harry’s left wondering why he’s still putting himself through this.

“You can when it involves prison, bro! You should!” Zayn scolds, turning back to buckle himself in as Harry drives off. “Lucky you’ve got me to watch your ass. One of us has to have at least a little sense.”

“Harry watches my ass just fine, I think.” Louis says to his phone as he types out a text. “Don’t really need you for that anymore.”

Harry forgot to turn the radio back up when they got on the road, so the car falls into dead silence after that. The innuendo in Louis’ tone says he definitely didn’t mean it in a friendly way, but the fact that he just made a joke about their sex life in front of Zayn might be even weirder.

Zayn is the only one to burst out laughing after the awkward pause. He looks over at Harry, grinning madly, like he’s in on all the dirty details. Harry would find it funny if he and Louis were actually dating, or if he even meant anything more to Louis than a good fuck he can brag about to his friends.

“Where are we going?” Harry asks, moving on to more important things like  _how soon can I get you out of my car and also my life, forever?_

 

Thankfully, Louis only lives about another twenty minutes from County. Zayn’s car is still parked at the club from last night, so Louis is going to drive him back to get it and Harry is finally free to go home. They both get out and Zayn says thanks again as he waves and runs up the driveway. Louis, for some reason lingers by the car, looking torn like he’s not ready to go yet.

“You’re welcome.” Harry says icily.

Louis opens his mouth to say something, and then shuts it again without a peep.

 _Why can’t he just fucking say “thank you”?_  It doesn’t have to be some grand gesture, Harry’s not asking him to get on his knees, or announce to the entire planet that he might actually be grateful for something Harry’s done; all he needs is a simple  _thank you_. Louis really does make it easy to want to wring his neck sometimes.

Louis doesn’t say anything, but he walks around the car, in front of it so Harry can’t even speed out of there like he wants to. He just waits until Louis is looking through the glass at the driver’s side window, asking Harry to roll it down with his eyes.

So he does, of course.

And Louis is just staring at him, looking almost tortured or in pain, nothing like Harry’s ever seen before. Somewhere deep down in his gut, he probably knows what’s coming, but it doesn’t rise until Louis leans his face in through the open window.

Harry’s mind is running fifty laps around the moon, he can’t focus on one single thing. Louis’ lips are on his just like they have been a million times before, only not. It’s so different; he’s gentle and careful about it, just a soft press together that catches Harry’s breath in his throat and momentarily stops his heart. Louis isn’t drunk this time. He means it.

He feels Louis’ tongue trace lightly over his bottom lip and Harry’s mouth falls open just the tiniest bit, so Louis can find his way in for them to really taste each other. Harry’s been paying attention for a while now; has the sweetness of Louis’ breath and the tang of his lips down to a spine-tingling memory, but for the first time ever, it feels like Louis is paying attention too. And enjoying it.

His breath comes quicker as he deepens the kiss and Harry can feel him all over, on a totally separate plane from when they fuck. This isn’t rage or lust, it’s—it’s—something. Harry realizes. All he’s been hoping for for weeks is to just get  _something_  out of Louis, other than fighting and fucking. Anything for Harry to cling to, to let him know that they don’t just hate each other anymore. Louis does care about him a little bit, too. Harry’s seeing flowers and candy and rainbows behind his eyes.

It can’t last more than a minute, but to Harry it’s worth hours. Days. Weeks. All the time they’ve spent wrapped in each other’s naked bodies is less than a drop in the bucket compared to the intimacy of what must be the best kiss of Harry’s entire life. When Louis pulls away, Harry feels like he could float off into the clouds.

“Thank you.” Louis says, never breaking Harry’s gaze.  _He means it, he means it, he meant it, he’s meaning it this has meaning he means it,_  Harry thinks. Blue is the color of perfection.

“I—” Harry says. Goddammit, Styles.

Louis fights to hold back a smile, but his efforts are useless and Harry is blinded by the beauty of it. Sharp little teeth and cute little crinkles near his eyes and those lashes, casting unbelievable shadows on the rounds of his squished cheeks in the glittering sunlight. Harry’s never been the cause of that outside of sex or intoxication before, but Louis is sober and fully clothed and smiling at him and Harry doesn’t even know what to  _do_  anymore. He is so beyond fucked.

“You’re, um. Welcome.” Harry tries again, letting his guard down just long enough for his own giddiness to shine through.

“Do you want to come in?” Louis asks. Harry just blinks back at him for a moment, waiting for the punchline. Louis adds, “So I can pay you back now? I mean you could wait here if you want, but it would be rude if I didn’t offer.”

As if Louis has ever cared about his rudeness before. Harry wonders if they all got in a car crash on the way here, and if this is some sort of delusion in the afterlife he’s experiencing right now. He half expects to walk into Louis’ house to find the light of heaven itself. Or more likely, to feel the flames of hell licking at his feet.

 

It’s nice, though. Really nice. All bright and shiny and open. A bit lavish, even for its already impressive exterior. Harry feels serene upon stepping inside.

He follows Louis and Zayn through to the kitchen, where Louis digs around in the fridge for a can of Sprite, which he quickly cracks open and guzzles halfway down. When the bottom of the can slams against the counter top he gasps, “Damn, I needed that.”

Zayn has already finished off his own that quickly, and he also sucks in a lungful of air when he tosses the empty into the trash. “For real. Almost worried we’d never know that sweet soft drink taste again.”

“Harold, did you want something too?” Louis asks, holding the fridge door wide open so Harry can see inside. They’ve got clusters of assorted soda cans and all kinds of exotic fruit juices, tea, water, coconut water, and sparkling versions of each. Harry didn’t even know there was such a thing as sparkling coconut water, but the Tomlinsons have it, and Louis is offering Harry his pick of whatever he wants.

They may have just shared some kind of genuinely romantic moment outside, but that doesn’t make it any less surreal for Harry to experience this version of Louis; nice and generous, without an ounce of hostility in him. He wonders if this is just how Louis behaves around other people, his friends and family and average bystanders who don’t have any certain place in his life. The Real Louis. Turns out he might actually be human after all.

“Water would be good.” Harry decides. That earns him a judgmental look from the both of them.

“Really, just water?” Zayn snorts. “You some kind of health nut or something?”

“Not a nut.” Harry says, smiling as Louis hands him a bottle of Fiji. “Just conscious? I mean, soda is really bad for you.”

“So’s fucking your rival, but that seems to be turning out better than expected all of a sudden.” Zayn comments, making Harry choke and cough a bit through the sip he was in the middle of. Louis gives Zayn a look that Harry knows all too well, like he’s just made the stupidest statement in the history of words ever spoken and Louis is trying to decipher how such idiocy could have even made it this far in life without getting itself killed in some freak accident.

“You started it.” Zayn shrugs.

“So, jail.” Harry says, taking the spotlight off himself and any more allusions to whatever the fuck’s going on here now. “What was that like?”

“Pretty sweet, actually.” Louis jumps in, “Marble floors and ivory towers, personal chefs and housekeeping. Room service, breathtaking views and all that.”

Louis being sarcastic as hell is nothing new, but the way he delivers it is something else entirely. He’s actually just making a joke. At Harry. Who ends up laughing much harder than necessary, while Louis looks on with a smug smile.

“It’s jail, how do you think it was?” Zayn answers a bit more honestly.

“On a scale of Orange Is the New Black to Beyond Scared Straight…?” Harry tries.

“Orange.” Louis says. “It wasn’t that bad, just really cold. And a bit scary to consider the possibility of actually being an inmate. We only saw the holding cell, though.”

“Thanks to our trusty knight in shining armor.” Zayn fake-swoons at him, and Harry only suspects he’s mocking Louis when Louis fake-punches his arm back.

 

“Why is it so quiet in here?” Louis asks no one in particular, leading the way out to the family room where a teenager is lounging across the couch, tangled in her long hair, eyes glued to her phone. She doesn’t so much as glance in their direction, even when Louis addresses her, “Hey Lot, where is everyone?”

“Twins went to a birthday party for some kid in their class. Fiz had a track meet, so mum and Dan went and took the babies with them.” She says, sans eye contact.

“So why aren’t you out having a life today, then?”

“Shut up. You’re home too.” She retorts.

“With friends.” Louis counters.

She lets out this long, deep sigh before finally looking up at him, exasperated. Her jaw drops when she lands her eyes on Harry.

“What the fuck,” She says.

“Don’t be rude to my guests.” Louis reprimands her.

“Since when is he your guest?” She gawks. Harry’s never met Louis’ family before, but he recognizes her face from performances so it’s only natural she’d know him, too. “What did you  _do_?”

“Nothing!” Louis lies. A big, fat, massive, prehistoric-sized lie. “He’s just—”

“What  _haven’t_  they done? Would be a better question.” Zayn snorts as he walks through the room and disappears down the hall.

“You literally ripped each other’s hair out on stage like a week ago.” Lottie says to both of them, trying to make sense of the fact that Harry is in their house right now, alive and breathing as opposed to bleeding and stuffed in a body bag.

“And now we’re teaming up to fight Zayn next.” Louis says, his hand finding Harry’s wrist to drag him upstairs to his room.

 

“Out.” Louis says to Zayn, who’s sitting against the wall on Louis’ bed. Zayn points to the earphones blaring in his head and shrugs like he can’t understand what Louis means. In all fairness, it is turned up pretty loud. Harry can hear every word in Drake’s voice with perfect clarity.

“Six annoying siblings and one extra brother.” Louis mutters underneath his breath. Harry doesn’t think he was meant to hear that, but he’s sure that Louis only has six blood siblings.

“Hey, I count Niall as my brother too.” Harry says with the tiniest hint of a smile. He can’t help but find it adorable that Louis has someone he feels that kind of closeness with. Maybe he’s just stupidly clinging to anything they have in common, because a relationship with someone he hates would be a disaster… unless it makes sense somehow.

“Cute.” Louis acknowledges. Before Harry can choke on his own spit, he follows with, “And there’s that sister of yours, right?”

“Yep. Just one, though.”

“Lucky you.” Louis sighs, going over to the actual iron safe in the corner of his room, squatting to turn the knob. “Imagine that times three, add in a couple screaming babies, and you’ll understand why I chose a school about five hundred miles from home.”

“Gemma and I get along well, actually.” Harry says. “I miss her when we’re both off at school.”

“Yeah, yeah, I secretly like my siblings too. Zayn included. I just also like giving people a hard time.” Louis says, pulling a literal stack of cash out of the safe to count through it. Harry knew Louis came from money, but he can’t help that seeing such solid proof of it has his dick sort of wet in an instant. He’s snapped out of his fantasies when Louis slams the thing shut again.

“I’ve noticed.” Harry says simply, holding his hand out as Louis slaps their bail payment into it. He lets his hand linger for a minute, skin against skin, and Harry’s heart seems to have acquired some sort of industrial sized drum set all of a sudden. “Why is that, exactly?”

“I was bullied as a child and never learned how to love myself.” Louis answers so automatically that Harry almost takes him seriously.

“Really?” He asks, just to be sure.

“Are you kidding? Look at me, I’m amazing.”

Harry rolls his eyes, but doesn’t deny it. “I’m just saying, be nice to nice. A little kindness can go a long way.”

“Thanks, Confucius.” Louis quips.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to, like…”

“No, you did. You always do.” Louis says.

“Am I really that bad?” Harry worries. He knows Louis thinks he’s preachy and egotistical, but Harry’s pretty sure that’s not something people usually have to say about him. It’s just hard not to be nitpicky when Louis is so insufferable himself.

“You think you’re right all the time.” Louis says.

“You think _you’re_ right all the time!” Harry counters.

“You are literally criticizing me right now for just being the way I am.” Louis calls him out.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s alright, what you said was true.” Louis shrugs. He doesn’t sound angry about it, he’s simply stating facts. “I guess I just find it easier to insult someone than to tell them I care.”

“The problem with that is it’s not very reassuring.” Harry says, gears turning now. Does the fact that Louis cuts him down so often mean that Harry fits into that logic, or is his hopeful heart reaching too far?

“Trust me, the people who are important to me know it.” Louis says. Which doesn’t help at all because yeah, going on the time they’ve known each other so far, of course Louis hates him. But something feels different now. A few months ago Harry never would have dreamt up a scenario where he’d be invited into Louis’ home and welcomed like any other guest. Harry figures it’s got to count for something.

“Well, I certainly don’t mind seeing this side of you every now and then.” Harry says, staring right through him. “You should get arrested more often.”

Louis chuckles brightly. “Thank you, again.” He says, “I know I’m like your least favorite person on the planet and you easily could have left us there. So, um, really. Thanks for not doing that.”

“Not on the whole planet.” Harry says. “I mean, there’s Mitt Romney and that Kony guy… Justin Bieber is pretty low on the list…”

Louis  _laughs_. Genuine laughter at a joke made by Harry. He wants to somehow frame this moment and keep it on his nightstand to look at before he falls to sleep every night.

He just smiles back instead.

“So…” Louis stares up at him, “See you next week, then?”

He’s not sure if that’s meant to be a promise or a threat, but he’s too afraid to ask. About anything. Especially the kiss his lips are still tingling from the vividly shining memory of. Louis is being pleasant to him for the first time ever, and Harry isn’t about to ruin it by saying something that could lead to another fight.

“Right.” He nods in agreement, finally managing to tear their eyes apart as he turns to leave.

“Happy holidays, Harry.” Louis waves him off and shuts his bedroom door.

 

He passes by Louis’ sister again on the way out, and she’s leaning expectantly over the back of the couch now as she stops him in his tracks.

“He likes you, ya know.” She says, very seriously.

Harry just blinks at her for a moment, stunned into silence. That can’t be true, no matter how much he wants it to be, but the bait is too good not to take.

“It’s not like that.” He denies.

“Maybe not for you, but I know my big brother.”

“He usually crushes on people he hates, then?”

“Nope.” She grins like a maniac. “Just you.”

“How do you figure?”

“I just know him. And I was spying on you guys up there.” She admits, shrugging. “Louis doesn’t make friends easily, so the fact that you’re even standing here right now is huge. But you’re clearly not friends, so I gotta guess it’s something else.”

“Well.” Harry clears his throat a bit awkwardly. “I don’t think that’s true, but thanks for the advice anyway.”

“You’re welcome. Good luck!” She calls from behind as he leaves the room and finally lets himself out.

 

Harry doesn’t care that he spends twice as long stuck in traffic on the ride home. He can’t keep the dopey grin off his face the whole way.

 

*

 

It’s dark by the time he gets in, but his mum and sister are still up. He can tell by the light on in the living room, they’re probably watching movie together and make cupcakes if he had to guess.

He’s right, the whole house smells like vanilla and sugar when he steps inside and they both greet him with a smile.

“Hey, look who’s finally back from his secret mission.” Gemma greets from the couch where he’s snuggled in next to mum.

“It wasn’t a secret. Just didn’t have time to explain.” Harry says, flopping himself down into the loveseat across the room. Walt is an aging brown retriever, and when he realizes Harry is back home he slowly trots his way over to sniff at Harry’s hand and wag his tail until he gets petted. Suddenly Harry is reminded of Gus the cat, and if Louis ever cuddles him or gently scratches between his ears when no one else is around to see his soft side.

“Well what was the big emergency?” Mum wants to know.

Harry sighs, a long deep thing because he has no idea where to begin. No way is he going to tell his mum about the details of his sex life, but maybe he’ll fill Gemma in on the real situation later. For now he just says, “I have a crush.”

“Oooh, details!” Gem claps excitedly.

“He’s really pretty and smart and talented and he just… drives me crazy.” Harry explains best he can, trying to make it sound like just a normal crush on a normal friend. It’s so weird to be able to freely compliment Louis all of a sudden. It’s weird to feel good about daydreaming of his lips and his smile and wondering what it would be like to hold his hand and kiss him that way every day. Harry’s not complaining though. Louis  _kissed_  him.

“And you just had to drive all the way down to San Diego to see him today, because you couldn’t wait another week to be back at school?” His mum teases.

“Yes.” Harry goes right along with it, glad he didn’t have to make up his own excuse. “Well, not exactly. He needed help getting his brother out of some minor trouble, so he called me to go with him and of course I couldn’t say no.” Close enough.

“God, I can’t believe you did that for a guy.” Gemma says. “I’d have to  _really_  like someone to drive that long to see them for just one day.”

Harry swallows. He does, he does, he does. He likes him  _so_  much. He’s tired of ignoring it. Letting himself love already feels so much better than trying so hard to hate.

“I’ve raised such a nice, romantic young man.” Mum smiles.

“And one grumpy, cynical old daughter. Can’t win ‘em all, I guess.” Gemma shrugs.

“Well it was totally worth it, anyway. He kissed me.” Harry grins.

His mum  _aww_ s at the same time Gemma grins back, “Go H! Get in.”

 

*

 

He didn’t hear from Louis at all for the rest of their break, and he tries to tell himself it doesn’t matter. Louis is probably still trying to figure out his own feelings, and what would he say to Harry, anyways? That’s a conversation to be had in person. So it’s a good thing he hasn’t called since that day, and Harry is anxious for rehearsals on the morning of their first day back. He doesn’t know exactly what to expect, but he’s so, so hopeful that things are about to change.

 

“How was everyone’s vacation?” Louis asks in the middle of stretches.

The group gives a low, humming cheer, still trying to adjust to being up at 4am again. Louis very deliberately does not look Harry in the eyes.

“How was yours, Lou?” Harry asks when the room has settled into silence. He’s aware of the watchful eyes of their teammates turned on him, especially Niall who also knows exactly how at least one part of Louis’ break went. The others probably don’t know what to think about the fact that Harry’s talking to Louis in an almost normal tone, and using his nickname like they’re some kind of friends, at that.

Louis is silent for a moment, holding Harry’s gaze in challenge. His legs are spread far apart as he holds on to one ankle, leaning his body to the left, and Harry does not have a single dirty thought in his head at all. Nope.

Finally Louis just says, “Fine.” And leans to the other side to stretch.

Which, okay. It’s not like Harry expected him to break down and confess his undying love in front of everyone. Still, he could’ve chosen a better adjective than that.

“Show of hands, how many of you practiced the routine at all in your time off?” Louis is back to addressing the group as a whole. A little more than half the room’s hands shoot up, along with Louis who’s setting the example. Even Niall’s hand is raised though, and Harry’s isn’t. He was so focused on trying to get away from everything Louis that he simply couldn’t find the energy to devote to anything acapella related. Minus exercising his vocals in the shower.

Louis sighs as he notices Harry’s hand not raised, and goes on to say, “Good. At least some of us are committed to winning.” He shoots a dirty look towards some of the other slackers instead, and why is Harry so starved for his attention that he even feels a pang of envy at that? “The rest of you can try to keep up today, and I guess Liam and I will be seeing plenty of your faces in extra lessons this term.”

 

Harry doesn’t get extra lessons today. Or the next, or the one after that. In fact, compared to how much of Louis he saw last semester, regardless of how much he didn’t want to, the fact that he actually  _wants_  to this time around and isn’t getting it seems too contrived to be a coincidence.

“Are we ever going to talk about this, or are you just going to keep avoiding me for the rest of the year?” Harry asks, daring to stay behind after their next afternoon rehearsal, despite that no one was asked.

“Since when have I ever actually tried to see you before?” Louis snorts.

“Seems like we saw a lot of each other last term.” Harry accuses. “Even over the holiday.”

“Guess our luck has changed, then.” Louis just shrugs, and Harry must be terrible at keeping his desire to throw things hidden, because after a short pause he asks, “Talk about what, Harold?”

“You know what.” Harry says. “That day. That kiss.”

“Which one do you mean?” Louis plays dumb.

“ _Louis_.” Harry hisses.

“I’m sorry Harry, but unfortunately we’ve kissed a lot more than I’d like to address lately, so you’ll have to be a bit more specific.” Louis says, punching a giant gaping hole right through his chest without even laying a finger on him.

 

Harry could scream. He could throw up. He could fucking launch himself off the side of a cliff to end his misery, but all he really wants to do is go home and  _cry_. Because the kiss he’s been replaying in head nonstop since it happened, doesn’t mean shit to Louis. Of course he knows exactly which one Harry’s referring to, but he  _means_  to downplay it. Whatever he felt in that moment, if he even can feel things with that useless black lump pumping tar through his chest, he must’ve thought better of and decided to change his mind.

Louis doesn’t care about him after all, not if he could fake emotion like that, and the realization floods heavy in Harry’s veins.

His anger doesn’t lead to fucking or fighting this time. He just slings his bag over his shoulder and turns away to leave. When he’s almost out the door he hears, “Wait—” but Harry just slams the door shut behind him, having absolutely nothing left to say to Louis anymore.

 

*

 

Harry went to a party with Ashton and Niall, and it didn’t take long for them to disperse. Niall’s developed the most massively embarrassing crush on Zayn, so as soon as he heard that he and Louis were there too, Niall managed to disappear. Ashton stuck around a bit longer, but after a few drinks and random dances, he found a girl to make out with in a corner somewhere.

Harry talked to a bunch of different people and had some laughs and even met a guy, a cute older one called Nick who seems very into him. He’s funny and stylish and Harry sort of wants to be like him, but he lost interest in doing anything with him as soon as he realized how blatantly Not Louis he is. And isn’t that a fantastic new development? The fact that Harry can’t even be attracted to someone now, unless they remind him enough of his (Still) Actual Worst Enemy in the World, who he hasn’t even spoken to outside of obligation in weeks.

He needs another drink.

Nick says a friend just texted him about a smoke circle in some room upstairs though, and Harry figures what the hell. He doesn’t really like pot all that much, but he’s in the mood to get wasted tonight. So he tags along on Nick’s private invitation, and it’s only when he gets to the room he really wishes he hadn’t.

Of course Louis is part of a secret smoke circle. He’s probably the one who started it.

 

Since the kiss confrontation, Harry has become a ghost to Louis outside of rehearsals. When Louis calls him to stay behind after, he deliberately ignores it and leaves anyway. When he comes home to Louis and Ashton writing music in his room sometimes, Harry turns around and stays with Niall for the night. And any other unfortunate run-ins with him are always quick and awkward. Harry’s not even fighting him on the team anymore, just taking whatever Louis wants to dish out with grated teeth and releasing his rage at the gym instead. He’s really enjoying boxing and has even noticed himself bulking up a bit lately, as if he needed more proof of how much better off he is without letting Louis get into his head.

It’s been a few weeks of strictly team-only business with him and now here he is, all cute and casual in his jeans and Vans, hitting Harry like a ton of bricks as he realizes there is no escape. He can’t run from Louis forever. Harry just needs to learn how to control himself and not fall into the mental destruction that comes with fucking Louis again. He can do this.

 

He understands exactly why Niall and Ashton wouldn’t be the ones to invite him to this, but their faces light up now as they wave him over to their side of the large circle they’ve made on the floor of the hazy room. Zayn and Liam are also there, among a few others he doesn’t recognize, but just the four of them are enough to make him want to stay despite Louis’ presence too.

“I didn’t say you could bring a guest.” Louis says to Nick,  _of fucking course_. Harry’s really starting to curse the universe for always intersecting their paths like this.

“Didn’t realize it was that exclusive.” Nick barks a laugh, shutting the door behind them and plopping down into an empty seat near him. “Harry’s cool though, right?”

Louis snorts. “I don’t know about that. Harry, are you sure you’re okay with  _destroying_ your precious singer’s lungs like this?” He asks, looking up with daring eyes.

“Shut up, Louis. I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t want to.” Harry snaps, taking his seat next to Ashton on the end, as far from Louis as can be.

“You know each other then?” Nick asks.

“Oh yeah, Harry and Louis are great friends.” Zayn says, and Niall bursts into laughter at the irony. Ashton and Liam kind of chuckle too, and the others are all people Harry assumes know them from school because they sport sly looks on their faces.

“This’ll be fun, then.” Louis grins, staring right at Harry from across the circle.

 

Harry coughs a lot. It’s been a while since he’s smoked weed, but he doesn’t remember it ever being like this before. Two hits in and he already feels like lying down and letting the wind carry him off to Mars. There’s still half a blunt being passed around, and Zayn is busy rolling another.

Louis calls Harry out for his “weak” hits. He also has a comment to make when Harry passes on his last turn, like it’s actually an offensive thing that he’s not a pro at getting high. He just focuses on talking to Niall and Ashton, letting Louis nag him without complaint. He can feel Louis’ annoyance building, but  _good_. After all the trouble he’s caused Harry lately, he deserves a bit of distress for himself too.

“Hey Z, wanna make this one worth it?” Louis asks before they light up the next one for round two.

Zayn gives him a look, considering for a moment, then he just shrugs. “Eh, why not?”

Louis puts one end of the blunt in his mouth and flicks his lighter at the other. When it catches, he sucks in as deep as he can, easily pulling the longest drag of the night. He holds it for a while, and then quickly glances over at Harry before waving Zayn closer. Harry doesn’t even realize that they’re shot gunning until their lips are attached and Louis’ tongue is down Zayn’s throat.

It’s dirtier than how you’re supposed to transfer smoke from another mouth, but Harry suspects that’s exactly the point. Louis wanted to make sure he saw their smoky kiss, and dammit if Harry can’t even turn away.

It’s  _hot_.

Zayn is easily the most beautiful living creature to ever grace the face of the planet, and while Louis is less attractive from an objective standpoint, in Harry’s eyes he surpasses even that. So to see them like this, to watch their faces move together and their lips circled by fuzzy tendrils of grey as it leaks out amidst their kiss is making Harry sweat. Also partially because Louis is such a shithead for doing that right in front of him in the first place. On top of the possessive tinge in his heart, he’s mad that he’s so turned on by it. And that he can’t even console himself how he used to, when he could count on that it would be his name falling from Louis’ lips as he reaches nirvana later on. He just sits and stews.

“Um, are you ever gonna pass that shit or did we sign up to watch you suck face all night?” Nick groans, thankfully ending the ridiculous display when the two of them pull apart, grinning.

“Sorry. S’been a while. Forgot how good you are at that.” Louis says to Zayn, winking after he breaks away.

“Back at ya.” Zayn says coolly. He looks up at Harry like he’s about to make another joke, and then thinks better of it and just starts talking to Liam instead. Louis takes another quick hit before sending it over to the guy on the other side of him, holding Harry’s hardened gaze the whole time.

 _You ok?_  Harry’s phone buzzes with a text from Niall. Bless him for not asking out loud.

Harry breaks his concentration to look over at him and nod, despite that his stomach is starting to feel a bit weird.

 _You?_  Harry checks, though Niall’s never been the jealous type.

_Can it be my turn next?_

Harry smiles in muted amusement.

 

The blunt makes two more rounds before it ends and Adam, the big black guy next to Louis has the last hit. He finishes it off until the cherry gets to close to his fingers, then ashes it out as he holds his breath. Louis has been very touchy with him the whole time, and Harry’s been pretending not to notice. But he can’t miss it when Louis beckons him in, and Adam leans over, and then they’re “shot gunning” again, right in front of Harry’s eyes and he’s had  _enough_.

“I gotta take a piss.” He announces, swiftly standing as he excuses himself and dashes down the hall to the nearest restroom. He runs right to the toilet, but doesn’t end up peeing at all. He falls to his knees and sticks his head in the bowl and lets his dinner go.

This is their game, Harry reminds himself. He’s not new to Louis messing with his head, pushing his buttons, even being a tease just to annoy him. But now Louis knows how Harry feels, and he’s just taunting him with it like,  _I can kiss anyone and it means nothing, see?_ It’s so low, even for Louis. What kind of evil person actually tries to cut people this deep? This is definitely a new record for Louis in the _how much of a worthless sack can I make Harry feel like today_ game.

 

He doesn’t know how long his head rests against the linoleum, but eventually Niall comes to check on him.

“Dude.” He worries from the doorway.

“I’m fine.” Harry lifts his cheek from the cold, sitting up to focus directly on him the best he can.

“You sure? You need me to take you home or something?” He offers, stepping inside to extend his hand and help Harry stand up.

“No thanks, I’ll be alright by myself.” Harry says, having already decided he’s done with this party. He just needed some kind of push to get up from the floor, and now he’s ready for bed.

“Come on, don’t do anything stupid.” Niall urges.

“Really, Niall. I’m fine.” Harry assures him. “This isn’t from drinking, it’s from Louis. Also, maybe a little too much Jack. But I could’ve kept it down if he wasn’t such a…”

Niall’s face falls at that, and he melts into understanding.

“I don’t think I want to hang around him anymore.” Niall decides then.

“You don’t have to do that for me. He hasn’t done anything to you.” Harry argues.

“If my best friend is so affected by this guy that he’s literally making himself sick over it, then Louis’ done plenty to me.” Niall insists. “I don’t even want to anymore… I’m so sorry, H.”

“It’s really okay.” Harry says. “My problems are my own. How do you expect to avoid him when you and Zayn end up married with ten kids someday?”

Niall snorts, pushing against Harry’s side in teasing. “I’ll find a way. You’re more important to me.”

Harry gives him a weak smile. “Thanks, Ni.”

“You sure you don’t need a ride?”

“I don’t want you to ruin your night over me.” Harry waves him off. “Go have fun. I’m walking home anyway. I need the fresh air.”

“Good idea.” Niall nods, resting a heavy hand on Harry’s shoulder when he adds, “Feel better, man.”

 

*

 

Harry wanders around campus for a while. He really doesn’t want to go back to his dorm, or be anywhere near this school or Louis or this entire city anymore. Even with the chilled breeze of the early morning filling his lungs, he feels suffocated. Trapped. Louis is everywhere; in his mind and in his heart and worst of all, in his face. It’s one thing to have to think about him constantly, but at least if he weren’t around all the time then Harry could pretend it doesn’t affect him. But no matter how hard he tries or where he goes, there’s no avoiding the agony.

This game isn’t fun anymore. Harry just wants to go home.

 

Since the cosmic powers are obviously holding a grudge against him for some reason, Louis is sitting outside Harry’s dorm when he finally decides his mind is clear enough to retreat to his bed.

“What the fuck do you  _want_  from me?” Harry groans.

Louis looks up at him with frazzled blue. He doesn’t say anything at first, and Harry is burning inside. He’s not sure if it’s anger or jealousy or disgust at this point, but it feels a little too close to desire for his liking. Most of all, he wishes Louis would just go away. Forever.

“I… miss you.” Louis finally says.

Harry scoffs and rolls his eyes, reaching for the doorknob so he can disappear into his room and shut him out.

Louis quickly stands up and reaches for his wrist to stop him. Harry yanks his arm away, stepping backwards to get out of Louis’ range.

“I’m serious, Harry.” Louis says, quieter this time as he’s still close enough that Harry can smell the intoxication rolling off him in waves. “I never thought I’d say it, but I  _miss_  you. I miss what we had.”

“We didn’t have anything, Louis!” Harry snaps, and okay,  _that’s_  definitely rage bubbling up inside now. How dare he, after everything he’s put Harry through, just decide to do a complete 180 and start acting like any of this matters to him? Fuck him. Fuck. Him. “We hated each other and then we fucked each other and now we’re back to square one.”

“I’m not.” Louis says.

“Well, I am.” Harry says firmly. He refuses to give in this time. He’s had  _enough_. If he lets himself believe a single word Louis is saying, it’s all over for him.

A montage of the entire school year plays in his head, reminding him how many times he drove himself to insanity over this guy. More recently, the image of Louis’ tongue shoved down more than one throat just a few hours ago serves its intended purpose. Louis can kiss anyone and it means nothing. He can fuck anyone and it means nothing. He can say this bullshit to anyone and it. Means. Nothing.

“I’m sorry.” Louis tries again. “I am an asshole, I know. I shouldn’t have… at the party. I took it too far and I shouldn’t have done that. I just wanted your attention. I wanted you to… I don’t know. I want things to go back to normal.”

Harry hasn’t known normalcy since before he joined the team.

“What does that even mean, Louis?” Harry asks. “Normal like, I fucking hate you and wish you would just stay out of my life? Or normal like, I fucking hate you but still want your face in my arse anyway?”

“The second one.” Louis says softly.

“Fuck you.” Harry spits, reaching for his door again. “In case you didn’t get the message, I’m  _done_. Leave me alone.”

“Harry, please.” Louis’ voice cracks just the tiniest hint. “I can’t—I left early because of you. Because I can’t focus on anything else right now. Just you.”

 _Welcome to my fucking life,_  Harry thinks bitterly.

“You really shouldn’t have done that.” He says instead, nudging Louis from the doorway so he can finally let himself in. Louis just stares at him now, blank and emotionless as Harry gives him the cold shoulder and slams the door in his face.

 

*

 

He doesn’t go to rehearsals the next afternoon, or the morning after. He just isn’t ready to face Louis yet and especially not if things are going to keep going like they have been, with Louis being a totally different person when it’s just the two of them and acting like nothing has changed in front of other people. Things  _have_  changed. Harry can’t look Louis in the eye anymore without wanting to kiss him, and kissing him has proven again and again to only lead to difficult things, so maybe keeping his distance is what’s best for both of them. And the team. They said it themselves, whatever this thing is between him and Louis has started to take its toll on everyone. Harry should just spare them all the trouble, since Louis is so set in his ways that he’s definitely not going to be the one to back down. Maybe he wins the whole war.

 

Like a testament to his own stubborn nature, Louis shows up in the middle of Harry’s secluded studying under the hidden gazeebo. Harry honestly has no idea how long he stood there waiting, he was that deliberately focused on his books. He only notices he’s not alone anymore when Louis takes a seat on the bench across from him.

“Thought I might find you here.” He comments, bravely reaching over to detach one of Harry’s blaring earbuds.

“And I really hoped I wouldn’t.” Harry snaps, putting it right back in.

“Harry,” He sees Louis’ lips move, his brows furl together.

“ _What?_ ” Harry sighs, yanking them both out and pausing his music to give Louis a death glare.

“You haven’t been to rehearsals in days.” Louis says carefully. Much different than his past accusations, which always used to be threatening. Now he sounds more scared of Harry rather than the other way around.

“I know.” Harry says.

“Care to explain why that is?” 

“ _You_  know.”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be here asking you to tell me.” Louis pushes.

“Right, because you like to play this little game where you pretend you’ve done nothing wrong and that I’m the crazy one who freaks out over nothing all the time.” Harry spits.

“Excuse me? I tried to apologize and…” He hesitates, “Fix things between us. You didn’t want to hear it.”

“Once, Louis. You tried to apologize  _once_ , for  _one_  shitty thing that you did to me.” Harry says. “And that was only after you realized I’m really not going to fuck around with you anymore.”

Louis pauses for a minute, no doubt realizing how right Harry is on this matter, thinking of a way to swerve around admitting it.

“Listen, whatever your problem is with me, it doesn’t give you a reason to ditch practice whenever you feel like it.” Louis says, skillfully avoiding eye contact as he picks at a loose splinter of wood in the picnic table between them. “You have a responsibility to the team, and we all expect you to start acting like a part of it.”

Harry really does want to punch him now. No kisses after, just a nice hard punch right to his nose. Hopefully enough to draw blood.

“You know what? I quit.” Harry says.

“You… what?” He looks up now, the shock of being caught completely off guard clear as ever in those sickening blue eyes.

“I  _quit_ , Louis.” Harry hisses. “I’m sick of dealing with you, and I’m sick of you having some stupid excuse to talk to me even after I’ve told you to piss off. I’m trying my best to avoid you now, so I fucking quit. Shove my responsibilities up your ass.”

“You can’t quit now, we’re like two weeks away from Nationals! We need you!” Louis objects.

“Not my problem.” Harry says, sticking his earbuds back in.

“Harry, please don’t do this.” Louis begins to beg. That’s certainly new territory for him. “Tell me how I can change your mind.”

Harry considers for a brief moment, and then decides he has nothing left to lose. He stares at Louis head on and summons up the courage to just blurt it out before he can back down, “Stop pretending you don’t have feelings for me.”

Louis swallows, pausing for a minute. His voice is tamer when he responds, “I never said I did in the first place.”

“Neither did I.” Harry says.  _But you can tell._

He’s not really sure if Louis feels the same or not anymore, but trying to guess isn’t doing him any good either. He can’t keep letting himself get his hopes up for nothing. He needs a clear yes or no, a clear picture of where this is going, otherwise it’s just a giant waste of time. He’s finally realized he deserves better.

Louis prolongs it for another few beats, and then he finally says, “I’m not sure if I can do that yet.”

“Okay.” Harry accepts that. It feels more like relief than anything. Louis doesn’t care about him, so now Harry has to learn how to do the same. “Then I can’t be part of the team anymore.”

“Harry—”

“Please leave, Louis.” Harry can’t help that his voice starts to feel wet and thick with tears. This is probably the last meaningful conversation they’ll ever have and it’s not even a good one. He doesn’t know how to come to terms with that, especially not in the span of only a few seconds. “Please, if you really want to make it better, just please leave me alone.”

Finally, after the longest minute in the history of recorded time, Louis sighs again.

“Okay.” He says, standing up from the table. Louis looks down at him while Harry hangs his head and tries not to sniffle behind a curtain of mermaid hair, and he would do just about anything to vanish from existence right now.

He can sense when he’s by himself again, and compared to the storm of desolation he feels brewing inside, he only cries a little bit.

 

*

 

“You can join our band if you want.” Ashton offers the next day. They’re all gathered in the commons during the next afternoon rehearsal. Niall skipped for the first time in ever, because he knows Harry needs his friends and also sort of wants to piss Louis off too.

“Yeah, we could always make room for another vocalist.” Calum chips in. “Maybe Niall could even teach you guitar.”

“Say the word and I’ll go grab my baby right now.” Niall agrees, shoving his mouthful with a bite of sushi.

“Thanks guys, but I’m fine. Really.” Harry says, though it’s not entirely true. Unless fine means empty and dying inside every moment he’s forced to remember that whatever thing they had is gone for good now.

“We could key his car. Or sneak in and T.P. his room.” Michael suggests anyways.

“Oh god, please say yes! We could get ski masks and dress in all black like proper criminals. It’d be so cool!” Luke gets excited.

“Since when are you on board with things that could get us in trouble?” Calum teases.

“Since I know what it’s like to be dumped by some asshole that can’t face his feelings.” Luke sticks his tongue out. Calum looks offended, but doesn’t deny it. At least they can still be friendly, anyway.

“Zayn doesn’t deserve that, though. And I don’t want to start anymore drama.” Harry explains his reasoning. It would be fun to get revenge, but he knows that no matter what he did wouldn’t leave Louis with the same hollow feeling as him, so it wouldn’t make Harry feel better anyways. “Thanks for having my back, but I’d really rather just move on and forget about it.”

“If you say so.” Michael shrugs. “I still hope a flock of birds decides to use him for target practice, at least.” The whole group nods in agreement and Harry feels okay for a while.

 

Later on when practice lets out about half the team shuffles into the commons, Zayn and Liam leading the pack with a giant cake balanced between them.  _We’ll Miss You_ , Harry reads in big swirly cursive icing.

“We heard what happened.” Liam says. “Some of the other guys are a bit angry so they didn’t want to come, but I guess all of us understand.”

“Louis can be a bit hard to deal with sometimes, but he’s alright.” Zayn says. “We just wanted to let you know that we’ll always be your team, even if you don’t want us anymore.”

It means so much to Harry that Zayn is even here, a part of this group who’s offering nothing but love and appreciation and sympathy for him. He didn’t realize Zayn cared that much, and boy is it a punch in the gut to see that even Louis’ best friend values Harry more than Louis himself does.

“You guys…” Harry’s lip starts to quiver.

“Shh, we’re not done!” Andrew says.

“We all chipped in to get you a couple tickets to New York and second row seats to Nationals.” Liam continues as he and Zayn set the cake down on the table. He reaches into his back pocket to pull out an envelope and hand it to Harry, who’s just staring awestruck back at them all.

“You deserve to be there just as much as the rest of us.” Zayn assures him.

“And we want you to cheer us on! We truly can’t do it without you.” Carlos adds, smiling big and wide and gosh, Harry is a mess. Of course he wants to go, even though Louis will be there and Harry’s not entirely sure if that’s something he can handle, he’s really got no choice. His team loves him and he couldn’t even dream of letting them down even more than he already has. He owes it them to show his support.

“Thank you.” Harry says, trying not to burst into tears again. Good tears this time. He hasn’t felt so adored in possibly ever. It doesn’t help that he’s generally in a fragile state right now, but this is the icing on the cake. “This is so lovely, you didn’t have to do this for me, thank you so much. I’ll miss performing with you all too, but I’ll make it to every single show for as long as you want me there.”

“Of course we want you there, man,” Niall says, draping an arm around Harry’s shoulder. “Won’t be the same without you.”

“Now let’s cut into this cake and celebrate Harry’s freedom!” Liam cheers.

 

*

 

Nationals. Twenty feet from the stage at most. Halfway through the Hard-Encore’s set and Harry wants to tear his skin off. He shouldn’t have come.

He does want to support the team and he can feel their eyes watching him as they perform, so he does his best to smile back in reassurance. He brought Gemma with him and she rests a comforting hand on his knee, squeezing lightly to combat what must be obvious on his face regardless of his effort to hide it. His rendezvous with the demon have long since been a secret to her.

He can’t help that his attention mostly stay glued to Louis. The only exception to the rule, because Louis hasn’t looked his way all night. And Harry is still craving that spotlight, begging with every nerve in his body for Louis to just  _please look at me_. Knowing he wouldn’t find anything there besides the same cloudy mystery he’s come to loathe anyway.

He hasn’t seen Louis since that day and he’s still as marvelous as ever. They went with a modern Greaser look tonight, so Louis’ hair is slicked into that cute little swirl he saves for special events and that dingy denim jacket is at least a full size too big for him, but it works. He won’t even mention how great Louis’ butt looks in tight pants, or how much Harry misses being in it.

 

It’s only when they merge into the last song that Louis finally locks their eyes together and Harry is sucked into a hypnotic vortex. He’d expected to hear Fall Out Boy’s  _Young Volcanoes_ , seeing as that’s the final song for the arrangement they rehearsed all year. Louis must have made a last minute change though, because the song they burst into instead is a brick tied to Harry’s heart.

Time seems to slow down and speed up all at once. Harry can hear them all singing, he knows the song; everyone knows this song. His brain can process the words but it’s too ridiculous and they don’t fit right in his mind. His heart is racing like Nascar as he follows Louis flitting around the stage, telling himself this can’t be happening. If Louis added this to the lineup just to mess with him some more, it’s fucking working.

At some point Louis ends up center stage, surrounded on either side by a long line of the others. He floats down the aisle they’ve created, hand to belly, singing clear and lovely and fucking heart stopping:

 

_I’m feeling all out of my element, throwing things, crying_

_Trying to figure out where the hell I went wrong_

_The pain reflected in this song ain’t even half of what I’m feeling inside_

_I need you, need you back in my life, baby_

 

Harry doesn’t really feel it happen. One second he’s drowning in the middle of the ocean, trapped in Louis’ gaze as he sits and absorbs the emotion sung at him through a fucking (fantastic) Mariah Carey breakup jam. The next he’s pushing the double doors open at the back of the arena, breaking out into the chilly night while the rest of the lyrics fade into the background.

 

Whatever the fuck that was, Harry can’t let it get into his head. He doesn’t know this school well enough not to get lost, so he just walks in a straight line until he finds a bench somewhere in between a bunch of dorm buildings. He sits and tries to catch his breath. Tries not to cry again. Tries extra hard not to start hating himself again because that’s gotten him absolutely nowhere and the real villain here is  _Louis_. Harry might have made some stupid mistakes over the past year, and he might be the whole reason he’s even in this situation in the first place, but he’s never been so cruel as to play with someone’s real feelings like this. Louis just won’t quit. Harry suddenly feels like he’s never going to be free.

 

“Harry,” A voice says, sounding short of breath.

Harry looks up and wants to empty his stomach.

“Ugh, shouldn’t you still be on stage right now?”

“Whatever. We probably lost the second I jumped down to chase after you.” Louis huffs, brushing it right off.

“You threw the competition, you idiot!” Harry scolds. The thing they’ve been training for all year, the thing that got this whole mess started in the first place, and it’s all for absolutely nothing now.

“Didn’t you hear me at all? I threw the competition  _for you_.” Louis clarifies.

“You really need to stop doing things for me that I never fucking asked for.” Harry says.

“So you didn’t like the song, then.” Louis gathers.

“Of course I didn’t  _like_  it!” Harry raises his voice now, blood heating up with the idea that Louis might have wanted him to. “I don’t even understand it. It doesn’t make sense.  _You_  don’t make sense, and I’ve already told you I’m sick of this shit! Can you just be upfront with me for once? Can’t you just fucking tell me what you want for  _once_?”

“I’m trying, Harry!” Louis shouts back. “You wanted me to stop acting like I hate you, but I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here! I’ve tried apologizing, but you won’t listen. And you don’t want me to talk to you anymore, so what else do I have to work with? Just tell me what I have to do to prove how sorry I am, and I’ll do it!”

“I don’t know, Louis, but you can’t just sing me someone else’s words and make it all better.” Harry gets up now, seething as he paces back and forth to avoid doing something stupid like actually acting on his anger. “You can’t just tell me you’re sorry, because I don’t believe you! You’ve never given me a reason to! Why should I trust anything you say?”

 

Louis doesn’t have an answer, of course.  He just stands there pouting like a kid who got sent to his room on timeout. Harry will admit that tugs on his heartstrings a bit. He kind of wants to give in, but the resulting disaster that would come of it wards him off. He doesn’t want to go back to just fucking Louis, and Harry’s yet to see proof that Louis wants any more than that. It’s all just words and manipulation. Harry needs honesty, even if that means facing the fact that it’s never going to happen.

 

“What if I sing  _my_  words?” Louis finally offers.

“You want to sing for me.” Harry repeats flatly, blinking in tortuously slow comprehension.

“Would it make you believe me?” Louis asks.

Harry crosses him arms over his chest, tilting his head up slightly. “Maybe.” He briefly deliberates before adding, “Make it believable.”

Louis looks disgruntled by the idea of willingly submitting to Harry’s demands, but also sort of like he’d be ready to go if Harry’s next request was for him to drop to his knees. That won’t happen, though. And Louis doesn’t have any power here, because if he walks away then it’s over again and Harry can finally get on with his life for real. But if Louis actually does manage to prove himself, well, then Harry still wins too.

 

Louis takes a step back and clears his throat. Harry’s never seen him look awkward before, but he swallows big before he speaks again. “If I do this for you, you have to promise to forgive me.”

“I don’t have to do anything, Louis.  _You_  have to show to me that you’re sorry before I can forgive you.” Harry says firmly.

“I’m not just gonna do it for no reason.”

“It’s not without reason.” Harry argues. “It’s for me. If you really care as much as you say, then why is it such a big deal to do this one little thing to make me happy?”

 

Louis sighs again, stubbornly rolling his eyes in defeat. He swallows one more time and his tongue darts out over his lips before he opens his mouth to sing, “Alright… I don’t know what I’m doing, but if this is what you need… whatever it takes to get you to listen,”

 

He starts off slow and cautious, like he’s waiting for Harry to realize how ridiculous this is and give him a pass. But that’s the whole  _point_. It’s stupid and embarrassing, even for a trained performer, to be put on the spot like this and Louis has made him feel that way for far too long now. Seeing Louis go to such lengths just to impress Harry might actually get him some points.

Harry nods for him to continue. Louis lets out yet another sigh of annoyance, but presses on anyway.

 

“I feel like an idiot right now so this better be worth it…” His voice carries on, “I’m sorry for being a giant dick, not the good kind… I’m sorry for everything I’ve done to you, even though you were sort of an ass to me too…”

This song has no tune and he’s totally improvising. He’s Will Ferrel’s Elf and it’s impossibly adorable. The smoothness of his high ringing sound doesn’t help at all, never mind the fact that he still looks delicious in his uniform too. Harry feels his heart inflate a little more with every word.

“I’m sorry for hurting you, and I’m just trying to tell you how much you mean to me…” He locks their eyes together so there’s no misinterpreting when he sings, “How badly I don’t want to lose you, cause I’ve realized I’m nothing without you…”

Harry swallows a lump in his throat. He was  _not_  expecting that.

“I still want to fuck you every day, but I wanna be boyfriends so I can kiss you too…” Louis sings, staring right through him, a tidal wave engulfing the jungle.

“This is so strange and new because I still kind of hate you… but only cause I love you so much, and I can see that you feel the same,” Harry can’t help but nod just the tiniest bit, Louis just said he  _loves_  him, fucking Christ. Well, he sang it, but Harry’s heart is a rocket to the moon all the same.

“So can you please forgive me… and stop ignoring me now… so we can try being happy together instead…” Louis does a little jumpy dance like he’s trying not to pee his pants. “I don’t know how to end this so feel free to stop me any time… Um, I really like your hair and I think you’ve got nice legs… what am I even saying now… Harold, if you don’t accept my damn apology I’m going to murd—”

Harry bursts out laughing. From unparalleled hatred to doubled over in laughter in less than two minutes, all because of Louis. He is such a dork, and Harry is so endeared. Loopy with it. Louis  _loves_  him, and that’s something he honestly thought he’d never get to hear in his life, but after that charming little display and how much Louis gave up tonight just to get him back, how could Harry not forgive him? All he ever wanted was for Louis to show he cares, and for them to make it official. Louis is saying he can have it all, if only he’s willing to take one more chance.

 

“Rude.” Louis grumbles, settling back down now. “Glad you liked it, anyway.”

“That was the worst song ever.” Harry laughs.

“Well it’s not like I had much time to prepare anything! What more do you honestly want from me?” Louis complains.

“No, no, I loved it. It was cute.” Harry says, wiping a false tear from his cheek. “Did you write with KidzBop for that one?”

“You know what, I take the whole thing back.” Louis pouts.

“That’s a shame, cause it did work wonders.” Harry says, grinning so wide his face feels like it might break in half.

“You’re so easy.” Louis teases, fighting back a smirk.

“Only for you.” Harry counters, happy adrenaline pulsing through him. His entire world has just shifted in a matter of moments. He went from trying to make peace with the long, Louis-less life ahead of him to having the potential for years  _with_  him and he’s not sure there’s any way to combat the fluffy warmth in his veins from that. 

“I know.” Louis says.

“Did you know I love you too?”

“Well, of course you do.” Louis says, and Harry can’t help but smile again because of course he would respond like that. He’s no less of a pain in the ass than he was before; the only difference is that now Harry can admit that he finds it charming.

 

Harry opens his arms wide for a hug. That feels weird for a moment, but Louis takes a few skeptical steps forward and melts into the embrace. Harry pulls him close and Louis’ head lies against his chest, so Harry rests his own head on top of Louis’ hair. They’re just standing there wrapped in each other, and Harry’s heart is pounding like it’s actually trying to crack his ribs, and he still can’t believe this is actually happening with  _Louis_ , of all people. The same Louis he used to dread facing every day and the Louis whose death he’s concocted way too many hypothetical scenarios for, has managed to gradually become someone he can’t imagine losing now.

“Mariah, really?” Harry asks, breaking their comfortable silence.

“It sounded like a much better idea when Lottie pitched it to me.” Louis defends.

“You do know that’s gonna have to be our song now, right? Look what you’ve done.” Harry chuckles.

“When you left I lost a part of me…” Louis sings softly.

 

“I do have one question,” He says a moment later.

“Hm?” Harry hums.

“How the fuck are we going to do this?”

“You mean because you still drive me up the wall.” Harry assumes.

“And you frustrate the hell out of me too.” Louis adds.

“I don’t know.” Harry says after a short pause. “I have no idea how this is going to work, but I know I want you, so as long as we’re both willing to fight for it…”

“I’m sure there’ll be plenty of fighting.”

“Always is.” Harry chuckles.

“But we get this now, too.” Louis says, finally breaking the hug to lace their fingers together instead. Harry notices Louis’ hand is dwarfed next to his, but it feels so snug and right, just like that. Even better than he imagined.

“I think it’s nice.” He says, watching the little tilt of Louis’ lips in response. “Would you rather try this or deal with moving on instead?”

He doesn’t think Louis would actually be so awful as to flip flop again now, but the doubt is worrisome. If they’re not both a hundred percent in this, then of course it’s only doomed to fail.

“This.” Louis says quickly. “I like it too… it’s just going to take some getting used to.”

“Good news is we’ve got plenty of time to get used to it.” Harry grins.

“We’re telling everyone you forced me into this, by the way.” Louis says firmly. “You gave me an ultimatum so I grudgingly gave up my free and single lifestyle for your sweet ass. That’s the story.”

“As if I’m going to let it stay secret that Louis Tomlinson actually has  _feelings_ , and that he serenaded me with a beautiful song about his undying love, right from his big, mushy heart.” Harry teases. Louis just glares back in horror. “Maybe I’ll even add in something about rose petals and a hired back band, just because you wanted to woo me that badly.”

“Gross. I’m breaking up with you already.” Louis pouts, bringing their hands up to his mouth for a softly contradicting kiss. He keeps his lips pressed on the knuckles of their locked fingers for a long moment, staring at Harry with deep blue intensity for how much he really means it. He really is in this no matter how much they might have to work at it. Harry pulls him in close again, this time for their first real kiss as boyfriends.

Louis tastes like fireworks and promise.

 

*

 

“Oh my god, you really do have makeup!” Louis giggles, holding a tube of lipstick in the air that he found while digging around in Harry’s bedside drawer.

“Shut up, stop going through my things!” Harry reaches over him to snatch it back, pinning Louis to the bed beneath him in the process.

“No, I like it,” Louis shakes with laughter, “Will you put some on for me?”

“You’re gonna laugh,” Harry grumbles, leaning down for a quick kiss because Louis is so damn cute when he’s teasing.

“I won’t. Promise.” Louis says when they break apart, eyes crinkling as his mouth spreads into a deceivingly innocent smile. He pokes his pinky out and Harry hooks his own around it to seal the deal. “I bet it looks really good. Probably have to kiss it right off you.”

“It’s still weird to hear you compliment me sometimes.” Harry comments, debating as he rolls off and lies next to him along the length of his bed.

“Don’t get used to it. Only happens when I want something.” Louis hums, tracing lightly along the ship tattoo on Harry’s bicep.

“I know.” Harry chuckles, though it’s not entirely true. Louis has no problem complimenting him in bed, and otherwise prefers subtlety. His compliments are in the way he absently runs his fingers through Harry’s hair when they cuddle, because he likes the silky feel of it between his fingers. How he always tries to hold Harry’s gaze for a moment longer, cause he gets easily lost in an emerald haze. How he surprises Harry with random items of quirky clothing, cause he was shopping and saw something he thought Harry would look good in. Louis is good at making his love impossible to forget now, even if he doesn’t always like to  _say_  it.

“Please, Haz?” He asks, using one of the many nicknames that also serve to make Harry feel important and tilt the scales in Louis’ favor. “Just for me?”

“Fine.” Harry gives in with a roll of his eyes. He uncaps the tube of deep red and brings it to his lips, but Louis sits up on his forearms to stop Harry’s hand.

“Can I do it?” He asks, all sweet and breathy and Harry is powerless. He nods softly, dizzy from their closeness and the touch of Louis’ dainty fingers on his. Louis takes the lipstick from him and brings it to Harry’s bottom lip, hung slightly open in stillness. He smiles as he traces color onto the skin, and Harry just stares up at him in a trance. He’ll wear hints of face or eye makeup in public, but no one’s ever seen him in lipstick before.

Even after a whole summer of sweet kisses and weekend sleepovers and late night calls and constant update texts, he’s in a constant state of disbelief that Louis is his, he really chose Harry to share his life with, and Harry hopes it stays that way for a very long time. Every one of their little intimate moments fills his chest with more love and adoration, and when they fight it’s always short lived, and they’re still just as good at fucking it out of their systems as they ever were. Actually better now, because they can laugh at their petty arguments over snacks and snuggles afterwards when they’re all tuckered out.

Louis smiles when he’s done, telling Harry to smack his lips as he closes the tube and admires his work.

“I hate you.” Harry says weightlessly.

“You love me.” Louis kisses the tip of his nose. “ _Je t’aime aussi_.” He says as he kisses Harry’s lips next, and this one lasts a bit longer as he smears their mouths together to split the crimson between them. “And I love your lips.” He says when they break apart, licking his own now.

“Me too. More.” Harry whines.

 

“No, no more, time to get going!” Niall says, barging into Harry’s room at just the right moment, before they really started going at it. He takes one look at their stained mouths and makes a face. “You guys are cute and all, but you do realize practice started ten minutes ago, right? Or it would have if our damn team captain weren’t so busy trying to jump his boyfriend’s bones instead.”

“Whoops. I’ve turned you into a slacker.” Harry says to Louis, who hasn’t made any moves to get off him yet.

“Five more minutes, mom.” Louis groans at Niall, burying his face in the crook of Harry’s neck to hide from the harsh realities of back-to-school life.

“Funny.” Niall deadpans for a moment. “That’s the third time in two weeks. This might be worse than when you two couldn’t stand each other. You’re impossible.”

“We really shouldn’t keep them waiting again…” Harry says, despite the dizziness taking over his head with the soft press of Louis’ persuasive lips at his neck. They’ve already caused the team to lose their crown once, so they should be trying extra hard to make up for it this year. It’s hard when he wasted all that time hating the love of his life, though. Now that they’ve finally gotten on the right track, it still feels like there’s so much to make up for.

“Fine.” Louis sucks his teeth as he pulls away to sit up and address Niall. “Tell them we’re on our way. We’ll be right behind you.”

Niall deliberates, looking unsure if he should head for the door or not. Louis could easily just be placating him and he’ll turn around to pounce on Harry the moment they’re left alone again. He’s done it before. Harry shares a look with Niall to reassure him, and then finally the blond lets them be. He leaves the door wide open, but that doesn’t stop Louis from pinning Harry back down to the bed and attacking him with more kisses.

Harry doesn’t object any more. They’ve got plenty of future rehearsals to attend together anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments are always appreciated!! you can find me on tumblr at [bus1forlife](http://bus1forlife.tumblr.com/) if u wanna chat, and thanks for reading! :~)


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